Son of Miraz
by youcantseeus
Summary: When Miraz's nine year old son is discovered in a slave market in Calormen, Caspian must deal with the consequences.
1. Prologue

**Summary: When Miraz's nine year old son is found at a slave market in Calormen, Caspian must deal with the consequences.**

**Rating: PG for violence, thematic elements, and possible language. **

**Disclaimer: Narnia and certian characters and places in the story are the creation of C.S. Lewis.**

**AN: Old plot bunny that I am finally able to write. Hope it is enjoyed. I love reviews. **

_

* * *

_

_Prologue_

_Pound, pound, pound._

The streets of Tashbaan were like fire on the Boy's bare feet.

_Pound, pound, pound._

The midday sun pounded down upon his back and sweat rolled off his body.

_Pound, pound, pound._

His feet upon the pavement. Running. His whole body jarred each time one of his feet pounded onto the street.

_Pound, pound, pound._

The smell of raw meat and filth filled his nostrils, but he kept running. He was a creature chased, hunted. He mustn't allow himself to be caught.

_Pound, pound, pound._

So hot. Always hot. In the Boy's mind was a place unbelievably cold with white upon the ground. An odd looking house with a green door. A stream that he could walk upon. And there was laughter. Dream or memory?

_Pound, pound, pound._

The ground was wet with blood. The Boy slipped and fell, his head hitting hard upon a rock.

_Pound, pound, pound._

The pounding of his heart. The last thing he heard.


	2. One

_One_

When the Boy awoke, there was a pounding pain in the back of his head. His eyes fluttered open reluctantly and slowly focused on what was in front of him. Bars. His face was pressed up against the inside of a cage. He lay, unmoving, for quite some time, having learned that when in unsure conditions it is often best to let your presence remain unknown. He knew, almost immediately, where he was – the Tashbaan slave district, just outside the boundaries of the city. Indeed, as his eyes focused further, he could see wheeled cages and beyond them the river.

The Boy gradually became aware that there were other people in the cage with him. He could hear them talking. The voices were young, children like himself. This was encouraging. The Boy sat up, holding the back of his head gingerly. He looked around and saw about ten other boys in the cage ranging in age from about four or five years to just shy of manhood. The two boys who had been talking stopped abruptly and looked at him.

"You're finally awake," one of the boys, the elder of the two, said. "You took a nasty blow to the head. There's a bad knot there."

"It hurts," the Boy said, rubbing his head.

"We tried telling them that you need your head bandaged but they just laughed at us," the younger of the boys who had been talking earlier said.

"I guess that you must have put up a fight," the elder said. "That wasn't very smart. They might have just as soon killed you as knocked you in the head."

"I didn't fight," the Boy said, furrowing his brow. "I was running and I – I think I fell."

"I tried running too," the elder said. "Everyday for two months, I ran. I couldn't keep running from them forever. If the new Tisroc (may he live forever) has decreed that we be slaves, then who am I to question him?"

The Boy himself had found it necessary to run from the city guards nearly every day for the past two months. The new Tisroc had decreed that the city's beggars and orphans be rounded up and sold as slaves in order to clear them off of the city streets. The Boy had been living on the streets of Tashbaan for nearly three years.

"I will not be sold as a slave," the younger boy said, confidently. "I'm no beggar. My family will be coming to get me any time now."

The Boy doubted this – even if the other had family, there was no reason for the slavers to give him up to them unless they happened to have enough money to buy him back.

"Food's coming," one of the other boys, a little one said. A dirty man who the Boy knew immediately for a slaver walked up and unlocked the cage door, thrusting a large bowl of slop into the area. It smelled awful and looked worse, even to a beggar's eyes. It made the Boy, who was still unsteady from his injuries, feel nauseous. He didn't eat, but watched as the others jostled one another for the food. He lay back down on the cage floor and closed his eyes. There would be no family coming for him. His mother had died years ago and he had no one else. To try to escape now would be foolish. He had to resign himself to slavery. Perhaps it wouldn't be much worse than being a beggar.

--- -- ---

"Most of you little ones will probably go to the mines," the oldest boy was saying. "They need children there to get into places that the adult miners can't reach."

The Boy sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "I've heard that those who go to work in the mines seldom live longer than five years," he said, in dismay.

The older boy frowned at him. "I don't know if that's true," he said. The Boy realized that he had scared some of littler children and felt a bit sorry for it. "You shouldn't worry too much about that anyway," the older boy told him, with a bit of a sneer, apparently a bit irritated at him. "_You're_ not for the mines. I heard the slavers talking while you were asleep. They mean to sell you off to one of the pleasure houses."

"Why?" another one of the boys, next to the first in age asked. "He's not exactly pretty, is he?"

"No," the oldest boy said, "but have you ever seen hair this color?" He grabbed a handful of the Boy's hair. The Boy swatted his hand away, irritably. People often commented on his hair. During the hotter months, his skin darkened to almost the color of a Calormen, but his orange hair would always give him away as a Northerner. He hated it. In a city as big as Tashbaan, one occasionally saw other people of Northern blood, but the boy had never seen anyone with hair of his color save for his mother who was long dead.

He wasn't sure why the slavers would sell him to one of pleasure houses. He had been to the pleasure district once or twice and knew that men went there to see women. He even had a pretty good idea of what they did, but what did it have to do with him? He didn't like the way the others were looking at him and turned away.

--- -- ---

The Boy sat in the corner holding his stomach, hungry. He now wished that he had eaten earlier. He was looking at the ground and so did not notice the approach of the two men until they were standing nearly in front of him. He looked up and saw that two of the slavers were standing in front of the cage, looking at him and one of them had a whip.

"Stand, boy," the one with the whip said and he slowly did so on wobbly legs.

"I was wondering when this one would wake up," the other man, a big fellow, said.

The first man used the butt of his whip to turn the Boy's face towards him. He gave a bit of a laugh. "We caught him running in the meat packing district. Hachim claims that he will get one hundred crescents out of this one," he said.

The other man spat on the ground. "A high price for so young a slave especially as the decree of the Tisroc (may he live forever) has made slave flesh plentiful and cheap in the city."

"He'll be lucky if he gets twenty," the man with the whip agreed and he placed his hand upon the Boy's face and pushed him farther back into the cage.

--- -- ---

The other boy had not been lying. His mother came to the slave district the next day, crying for him to be released. The Boy could see that she dressed in rags and clearly the slavers noticed the same thing for they laughed at her and told her that if she could find forty crescents within the next four days that they would gladly sell her son to her.

She continued to cry for her son until the slavers told her that they would lock her up too if she did not leave. The Boy listened to her son who was around his own age, cry himself to sleep that night.

Four days. That was when they were planning on selling them. Four days.

--- -- ---

The Boy ate his food eagerly. It had been long since he had last eaten and the food looked much better today. The Boy wondered if the food was actually better or if it merely seemed so because he was so hungry. Today, he moved to the middle of the cell, trying to keep out of the sun streaming through the bars. Despite the fact that he did not have a home and was often exposed to the weather, he had always generally managed to keep out of the sun when it was at its zenith in the past. Already, his tanned skin had a decidedly reddish tinge to it.

Perhaps the slavers noticed too, for after some time a man came and threw a dirty bucket of water on him.

--- -- ---

"And this is where we are currently keeping many of the slaves," a man's wheedling voice came. "Normally the stalls that your lordship saw earlier are enough to house all of our slaves. However, the decree of the Tisroc (may he live forever) has made it necessary to find other arrangements." The man, who the Boy could see was a slaver, gave an ingratiating laugh.

The Boy sat up in interest when he saw who was with slaver. One of the men was a Calormen dressed in the style of a servant or a high slave. He wasn't particularly interesting. But the other three were men fair of skin, like himself and the Boy knew both from the way the Calormens treated them and from their clothing and carriage that they were lords.

Two of the Northerners were young, barely old enough to be called men and looked about with curiosity though it was mixed with a certain revulsion. The third man was older, his graying hair drawn back, and his distaste for all around him was most obvious. The Boy saw him touch one of the cages and then wipe his hand as if to remove a taint.

"The Tisroc (may he live forever) is wise," the Calormen servant said, seeming not to notice the reactions of the other men. "Perhaps the great lord would care to see the market where there is to be an auction in two days time?"

"Yes, yes --" the slaver began enthusiastically, but the Northern lord cut him off.

"That will not be necessary," he said, giving the place a sweeping look. "It was a mistake coming here." Just as he finished this sentence, he locked eyes with the Boy. His mouth opened in surprise and the Boy could see something odd in his eyes.

"This boy here," he said suddenly, pointing at the Boy. "Let me see him."

The slaver started, surprised. "Certainly, my lord," he said, giving a low bow. He took out a large ring of keys and unlocked the cage door. He reached inside and grabbed the Boy by his collar drawing him to his feet and outside.

He stood before the Northern lord, nervously. The man was tall and intimidating and the Boy was not used to being so closely scrutinized. The lord gave him a long look, up and down and then tilted his chin firmly upward so that they were looking one another in the eye. They looked at each another for long moments, the Boy seeing something indefinable in the lord's face. Finally, their gazes broke and the lord rather suddenly pulled the Boy's large ragged tunic down across one shoulder. The Boy knew almost immediately by his deliberate manner what he was looking for. There was a rather large, strangely shaped birthmark on the Boy's right shoulder. After the lord had seen it, he quickly released the Boy.

"I wish to buy this slave," he said, imperiously to the slaver.

"Ah … um, of course, my lord," the slaver said. "But his lordship must understand that it is not customary to sell the slaves outside of auction. We can get more out of them if --"

"I'll give you three hundred crescents for him right now," the lord cut in. There was general surprise. The Boy knew that this was a huge amount of money to pay for a slave child.

The slaver licked his lips. "I – I am sure that my master will be pleased," he said. "Does my lord have the money to pay up front?"

The lord took out a purse and counted out one hundred and fifty coins. "That is about all I have for the moment. The rest I'll have one of my men send up later," he said. The Boy thought this was very clever. The slavers would not try to rob him or cheat him as long as there was the promise of more money in another location. Yet, they would let the Boy go for a hundred and fifty crescents even if they never saw more because it was far more than they were likely to get for him at auction.

"I will retrieve shackles for him," the slaver bowed low and respectfully.

"That won't be necessary," the lord said.

"My lord," the Calormen servant said in surprise. "This boy is likely a street urchin. Without shackles, you may lose him on the trip back to the palace." The Boy had already been contemplating the same thing – if he could escape, there was a chance he could blend back into the city. Maybe he could get away from Tashbaan altogether and go live in the country.

The lord chewed his lip for a moment, his eyes coldly contemplating. "I think we can handle him," he said wryly. His hand closed over the Boy's arm, tight as a pincer and he commanded one of the younger men to take the other hand, which he did with a much lighter touch.

The Boy gave the others who had shared his cage one, last regretful look as he was led away. But there was no reason to be regretful. They weren't his friends. He had no friends.

As the lord led him through the city, he began to wonder why so great a man would pay so much money for him and grew nervous. This man must have some unknown motive. The Boy wanted to ask, but knew from experience that great lords did not like being questioned by little boys. After some time, however, he decided to risk it.

"My lord," he said, licking his lips, "I am but a dog but one in need of the wisdom of his master." This was the sort of thing that great men liked to hear.

The lord frowned at him, slowing his steps a bit. "You have a question then?" he asked.

The Boy gave a deep nod of his head that he hoped looked half a bow.

"Ask then," the man said impatiently.

"Why have you bought me, Sir?"

The lord stopped completely and turned the Boy around so that they were facing one another. "I know your family," he said simply. "I am going to take you to one of your relatives – my master, your cousin."

The Boy cursed the jumping of his own heart. "I have a cousin?" he asked in confusion a moment later. "And he is your master? But I thought that you were a high lord."

"I am," the lord turned back around and began walking again, still holding the Boy's hand tightly. "You cousin is Caspian the Tenth, king of Narnia."


	3. Two

_Two _

The king of Narnia. The Boy knew that Narnia was a cold kingdom to the north, but he had little knowledge of it. When he was younger, life had been much better. He had lived in the house of a Tarkaan and servants had waited on him hand and foot. Still, he had never considered that he might be related to royalty. Was the lord lying to him? Joking? It was hard to tell. Perhaps the lord had only said that to keep him from running away.

The Boy struggled to keep up as he was pulled through the city. The lord seemed in a hurry to get back. He looked at the low, dilapidated houses of lower Tashbaan, with which the Boy was well familiar, in disdain and quickened his pace even more. It was evening and not terribly hot, but one of the younger men began to complain anyway.

"Father," he said, "slow down. I'm so hot." The Boy looked up at the young man holding his hand that he had taken for a lord and saw that his face was indeed red and sweaty.

The lord looked at his son and raised an eyebrow, but slowed just the tiniest bit. Soon, they were in a part of the city that the Boy did not know well. It had nicer houses, some of them with two floors. A woman near one of the houses was beating a colorful rug and she looked at the Northerners oddly. Soon, they reached the market and the smells of food filled the Boy's nostrils, making his mouth water. He felt nearly faint with hunger and he realized how little he had eaten in the last week. The lord seemed to have thought of this and he stopped and looked down at the Boy.

"I suppose that you are probably hungry, boy," he said.

The Boy fidgeted under his gaze. "Very, sir," he said, politely. "If it please you," he added quickly, hoping that the lord would not be upset with him.

"Roland, go buy him something to eat at one of these stalls," the lord said to his son as he released the Boy's hand. "And hold onto him _tightly_," he finished. Roland rolled his eyes and tightened his grip on the boy's hand a bit. The Boy realized that he could probably run away now, if he wished, but these people were going to feed him. If he ran away, he might not get anything to eat for another day and if he did, it would be stolen or taken out of a trash heap.

Roland bought the Boy a lamb chop which he tore into with gusto. When he was finished eating, Roland said, "And now we shall buy you an orange. Do you like oranges?"

The Boy said nothing, unsure of the right response. Roland prattled on as though not noticing the Boy's silence. "I like oranges. We don't have them much in Narnia – and if we do, they are not this good. They don't grow so far north. Don't be disappointed, though. There are plenty of other nice things to eat. Why, near our house are some of the most delicious raspberries you'll ever have." The Boy looked at him, only half understanding. It was all too much to take in. For the first time, he understood that these people were intending to take him to Narnia. He realized that Roland was younger than he had first thought – probably not more than sixteen.

Roland bought the Boy an orange and peeled it for him as if he were a baby. He had to let go of the Boy's hand to do this, but the Boy didn't run away – he wanted to eat the orange. When he bit into it, the juice that ran down his throat was sweet with just a hint of acid – it was wonderful.

Roland smiled at him, as though happy he was enjoying himself. "My father, Lord Reynold is going to take you back to Narnia where you belong," he said.

"_Back_ to Narnia? But have I ever been there before?" the Boy asked, politely.

Roland started at this and looked away, surprised. "When you were a baby, I believe," he said, faintly, as if his mind were a thousand miles away.

--- -- ---

When the Boy realized that they were going to the palace itself, he wished that he had run away. For the very poor who lived on the street, there was something terrifying about the name of the Tisroc and all the royalty. The commoners may have revered royalty, but most of them certainly didn't want to _meet _them. The Boy quickly realized however, that the Narnians were not staying in a central part of the palace. They brought the Boy into a room with lots of couches and cushions where Calormen servants immediately began to fuss over them.

"This is a slave that I bought today," Lord Reynold said to one of them – a woman. "He needs to be bathed and dressed in proper attire."

This confused the Boy. Was the lord lying to him earlier? Was he really to be a slave? The woman bowed low and assured Lord Reynold that she would do so and the Boy was taken off and thrown into a large tub. The bath would have been very pleasant if the Calormen woman had not continually dunked him under the water and scrubbed him roughly with a large brush. Still, it was nice to see the grim coming off his body – soon the tub was a grayish color.

When the Boy was almost finished, Roland entered the room. "Don't wash him to death," he said in a joking voice to the woman, apparently seeing her vigor as well. "Father wanted to make sure that you were properly dressed," he told the Boy, placing some clothes on a table by the tub. "Sorry, but we couldn't find any Narnian dress that would fit you – there are no children in our party. But Father said that a Calormen robe would do very well until we got back to Narnia." The Boy wanted to ask Roland a million questions. The young man certainly seemed harmless enough, but still, the Boy was wary. He merely nodded.

The Boy dressed in the Calormen robe, memories returning to him of wearing such fine material. He was grateful that, for the moment, he did not have to wear Narnian clothes as he had never done so before and was not sure that they would be comfortable.

He was given his own room, a luxury that he could scarcely believe. He sat gingerly upon the bed, touching the silk cover. He was unwatched and could easily escape out the window, but why would he when he was being treated so nicely?

--- -- ---

Lord Reynold soon called him into the room with the couches and the Boy saw that he had sent all the servants from the room. "Hello. I hope your room is comfortable?" he said the Boy.

"Very, sir," the Boy said.

"I would prefer it if you didn't go blabbing your identity to all the servants. I don't think that it could compromise our position, but it is just possible that the Tisroc would get it into his head that you could be useful, if he knew you were here."

The Boy shivered. He had no desire to meet the new Tisroc. He had spent the last weeks running from his men. "So, I am to pretend to be your slave, sir?" he asked.

"If anyone asks, yes. I am told that it is not uncommon for Tarkaans to lavish gifts on their favorites, so your room and dress should draw no attention. It is probably best to keep silent about the whole situation unless asked though."

This suited the Boy, who always liked to keep quiet until he had observed the situation fully.

"We shall be leaving in three days anyway, if I don't offend the Tisroc with my early departure. I'm an ambassador for Narnia, you see." The Boy noticed that Lord Reynold did not say "may he live forever" after referring to the Tisroc.

The Boy nodded, but said nothing.

"I have some questions to ask you," Lord Reynold said, no longer looking at the Boy.

The Boy continued to look at him, waiting.

"How --" for the first time, the Boy heard Lord Reynold hesitate as if unsure of how to ask the question. "How did you end up in Tashbaan – in a slave market?"

"They took me from the streets," the Boy said. "The Tisroc issued a decree --"

Lord Reynold waved impatiently. "I know _that_. I mean how did you come to be in Calormen in the first place? Where is your mother? What is your story?"

The Boy felt very strange about these questions and he did not want to answer them, but with Lord Reynold's expectant eyes on him, he hardly had a choice.

"I have lived in Tashbaan since I can remember," he said, slowly at first. "When I was small, I lived in a the home of a Tarkaan with my mother. Before I had reached my sixth birthday my mother died and a few months later, the Tarkaan kicked me out onto the streets where I have lived since." As the Boy spoke, a parade of memories marched across his mind. He was a little child he worried about his mother as she rocked him – her odd behavior, her apparent sickness. He was slightly older and the servants who he had loved and trusted all his life ignored his pleas to be let back inside his home. He was running through a meat market and he slipped – best not to think of it. Best not to remember.

Lord Reynold put his head in his hand as though suffering from a headache. "I see," he said, quietly. "You may leave now." The boy was surprised, for he had expected to be asked more, but he was not about to argue.

--- -- ---

The Boy watched in interest as Calormen servants loaded the wagons with various fabrics and rugs. He was glad to have something interesting to watch. For the past three days, the Boy had found little to do. When he was a child, he had been given toys to play with, but Lord Reynold didn't have any toys and the Boy was too old for such things anyway.

"Are you ready to go?" Roland asked, cheerfully, from beside him.

"I guess," he said. "I thought we would be taking a ship."

Roland snorted. "Father doesn't much like the sea. He's very old fashioned that way. Were you looking forward to being on a ship?"

The Boy shrugged. "I've never been on one. But I don't care. I was just wondering." He now watched as Lord Reynold and his other son Raul spoke to some of the Calormens. Raul, unlike Roland, rarely spoke to the Boy. The Boy liked this – he was used to grown-ups ignoring him and sometimes Roland's kind concern and Reynold's intense attention were most unsettling.

"There is one advantage to going by caravan, you know," Roland said, a moment later. "We'll get to see more of the country this way."

--- -- ---

The Boy could hear the sands of the desert blowing against the wagon. He felt a little sorry for Lord Reynold and the others who were sleeping outside in tents. They had allowed him to sleep in the wagon, seeming to think that it was safer. The wind was blowing harder now and the Boy shifted restlessly on his pallet. After a while, Roland came in to talk to him.

"Whew," he shook sand out of his hair. "I'll certainly be glad to get back to Narnia, that's for sure. Between the sand and the heat, it is quite miserable."

"Is it very cold in Narnia?" the Boy asked. He had been wondering what it would be like in Narnia. He had never lived anywhere but Tashbaan, nor had he ever really thought of what it would be like in a Northern country.

"Not right now, though it is cooler than here. It's summer, you know. But in the winter it can get _so_ cold. It'll probably take some getting used to for you. Snow is fun though and Cair Paraval – where your cousin, King Capsian, has his castle, is spectacular in the winter."

"My cousin …" the Boy mused. "What is he like?"

Roland hesitated for a moment. "I've met him before," he said finally. "He's very likeable."

"Well, do you think he will be glad to meet me?"

"Um …" Roland looked away, "I really couldn't say. I suspect that he will."

The Boy realized that Roland was lying. But why wouldn't King Caspian want to meet him? From what the others had told him, Caspian did not have any family left alive. Surely, he would be happy to meet a relation? The Boy decided that he should resign himself to not being liked. It would be no different than usual. People often disliked him.

"Don't worry," Roland said, seeming to sense that he had upset the Boy. "You'll like Narnia. You'll probably get to stay at the castle. Or – or if the King decides that you would be better off somewhere else, perhaps you could come stay with us!"

"Really?" the Boy brightened a little, but didn't want to get his hopes up.

"I'm sure that it is what Father would like," Roland said. This surprised the Boy, for he hadn't seen any indication that Lord Reynold liked him or wanted him around. He merely seemed to be doing what he considered his duty – taking the Boy back to Narnia. "At any rate, you must come and visit us sometime."

--- -- ---

The Boy clung the mane of his pony. At Archenland, they had traded their wheels in for horses and the Boy had been very pleased when Lord Reynold let him ride his own pony. He was not used, however, to the mountains. The road was narrow and the Boy was terrified that his pony was going to misstep and send him hurtling off the cliff. He never thought that he would be afraid of heights – he was used to running across Tashbaan's rooftops – but this was, by far, the highest he had ever been. He tried to let his fear remain unknown and thought that the others hadn't noticed. He was relieved, however, when the path began to widen a bit.

As they rode further down the mountain, the Boy noticed that there was a sort of _animal_ walking along beside them. It was half as big as the Boy himself, looked very prickly, and walked incredibly purposefully. The Boy was just wondering if the others had noticed, when it turned around and said; "Well, what are you looking at?"

The Boy nearly fell off his pony. He said nothing, unsure of how to react. Had this creature really just spoken to him? The creature sniffed and waddled farther away from the Boy.

"Don't be frightened by it, boy," Roland's brother Raul said, from beside him. "It's only a Porcupine. We don't bother them and they won't bother us."

"I – I – do you have many such … animals?" the Boy asked, weakly.

Raul gave him an odd look. "We do now." And he rode on ahead of the Boy.

The Boy remembered something his mother had once told him. Sometimes she would talk about her life before coming to Tashbaan, though she was always rather vague on details. The Boy had never even known that she was from Narnia. Once, the Boy had become excited about one of her stories and had asked if they would ever return to the land of her birth. She had told him that they could never go back there because the country had been taken over by bloodthirsty beasts who tore apart humans with their teeth and claws. The Boy wondered if he should have run away after all.


	4. Three

_Three_

The Boy had thought that all castles were situated in the middle of great cities like Tashbaan, but Cair Paravel was truly a castle in the wilderness. It looked very different than the palace of the Tisroc, which was magnificent, but built lower to ground and of more diverse materials and styles. The Boy had once heard that different Tisrocs had added different wings onto the palace, turning it into the massive structure that dominated the city. Cair Paraval was clearly built all at the same time of the whitest stone that the Boy had ever seen and the whole structure looked _new_. Although the castle was not nearly so large as the palace in Tashbaan, the Boy could tell, even from a distance, that some of the towers were very tall. He wondered what it would be like to stand at the top level of one of those towers and look down at the sea and sand below. He realized, with a slightly dizzy feeling, that he would likely soon find out.

"It's beautiful isn't it?" Roland said to him, quietly, as the castle came into clear view. "I wish that you could see it at sunrise, that is when it is most wonderful."

"Where will we stay?" the Boy asked. There did not even appear to be a village around the castle.

"In the castle of course," Roland told him. The Boy knew that he shouldn't be surprised; Lord Reynold and his sons had stayed in the palace of the Tisroc. They must be important people.

The Boy had thought that he would be shown to his cousin right away, but when they reached the castle, they merely had their horses stabled and were then shown to their rooms. The Boy saw several creatures wandering about the castle, some of them even more strange than the Porcupine that they had come upon earlier. The Boy tried his best not to stare.

"Won't I get to meet my cousin now?" he asked Lord Reynold once they were shown to their rooms.

"Not today," Reynold said. "I'm going to present you at court tomorrow morning."

"Oh," something about this seemed odd. "Does King Caspian know what you are going to do?"

Reynold looked away from him. "No. Now, stop asking so many questions. We'll have to get you some new clothes – you can't go before Caspian looking like a bloody Tarkaan, now can you? Do you know how to bow, by the way?"

"Yes," the Boy said, a bit defensively. He dropped to his knees and bowed low before Lord Reynold. When he looked up at the lord's face, he saw some great emotion etched there.

"That's good," the lord said, collecting himself, "for a Calormen sheep herder. Stand up." The Boy stood to his feet. "When you bow, you remain standing and bend at the waist. One arm in front of you and one behind, like so," Lord Reynold bowed to show him.

"Like this?" the Boy asked, trying.

"Much better, but not so low. Try again."

Lord Reynold continued to teach him about Narnian manners until a servant brought them dinner. The Boy was somewhat disappointed by the meal. It was certainly hearty enough and better than what he was used to getting on the streets, but it was rather tasteless, not being as heavily spiced as Calormen food. After dinner, the Boy went almost immediately to his bed.

--- -- ---

Roland came and woke the Boy up before dawn. He rubbed his eyes and took the clothes that Roland gave to him – a gray tunic of light material and white leggings. The Boy was not at all sure how these types of clothes went on, but he supposed that he would have to figure it out. Roland brought him a bowl of water and told him to wash his face and hands thoroughly. There were no servants around. The Boy wondered if Lord Reynold was trying to keep his presence a secret once again. Well, everyone would know about him soon enough.

The Boy was given breakfast. The others did not eat with him and he began to feel somewhat lonely. After he finished eating, he began pushing a piece of fruit around his plate, bored. After some time, Roland came to get him. He took the Boy across a long corridor and down a set of stairs, unusually silent. The Boy saw Lord Reynold standing in front of a large door.

"Come," the lord said, "before we are late. We are the first to go before the king today." The Boy followed him into a large chamber that he knew must be the throne room. They waited for a moment at the back of the room before being motioned forward by a sentry. The walked down the long room slowly, the Boy getting more and more nervous as they went along.

They made their bows to the king and queen, the Boy hoping that he remembered how to do so correctly. It was when they arose that the Boy got his first good look at the king. He was surprised. For some reason, he had expected the Capian to be old. Barbarian kings were supposed to be old – at least they seemed to be in all the stories that reached Tashbaan of them. They always had long, white beards, rotting teeth, and wizened faces. Caspian was young. A grown-up, certainly, but a man probably not even old enough to be the Boy's father. The Boy felt rather stupid for not realizing that this would be the case earlier – of course to be his own first cousin, the king couldn't be so very old.

Caspian smiled at Lord Reynold. The Boy thought that his smile seemed nice and the king was certainly handsome enough with his curly blond hair and angular features. He was outdone, however, by the lady seated beside of him. The Boy remembered the queen's name to be Maren, though he had not been told she was so beautiful.

"My Lord Reynold," King Caspian said, after he had nodded to both of them. The king's tone somehow sounded more informal than the Calormen nobility even though he had addressed Lord Reynold by his title. "I trust you had a safe return journey from Tashbaan?"

"I fear it was a bit too windy for the tastes of my sons, Your Majesty" Lord Reynold answered him, "though not perilous."

"I see," Caspian said, chuckling a bit. "The desert sandstorms can be bad this time of year, I hear. Did you find the new Tisroc agreeable?"

Lord Reynold sighed. "As agreeable as can be expected, I suppose," he said. "The current Tisroc was even less happy with Your Majesty's abolition of the slave trade in the Lone Islands than the previous one, but he seemed open to friendly relations with Narnia."

Caspian brought his hands together, as if thinking. "I will speak further with you on this subject later, of course" he said, "but now you must introduce your young friend to me. Who is he? Some Northerner that you have rescued from the bonds of Calormen slavery, no doubt?" Roland had told the Boy that it was somewhat common for Narnian lords who visited Calormen to buy slaves, especially of Northern blood, and to bring them back to freedom.

Lord Reynold gave the Boy a sidelong glance. "Something like that," he mumbled and the Boy realized that he did not know what to say. "Your Majesty," he continued, licking his lips, "you would agree that it would be the duty of any knight, nay, any man of Narnia to rescue from slavery any person that he knew to be of noble Narnian stock and return him to his rightful home?"

"Certainly," Caspian said, his brow furrowing as if unsure of what Reynold was getting at.

"And doubly so, if he knew the slave to be of the king's own blood?"

"I suppose," Caspian replied, shooting the Boy a confused glance. "But such a thing is not possible in the case of your king, Lord Reynold. All of my kin are most certainly dead. I have only my queen as family."

"Your Majesty," Reynold actually bowed again. The Boy wondered if he should bow too, "while I was in Tashbaan, many of the Tarkaans spoke to me of the novelty of the slave market, the largest in the known world, and they urged me to visit. I had no taste for their disgusting traffic, of course, but I went, with my sons, so I could inform you on how the trade was faring in Calormen. As I was about to leave, I saw this boy in one of the large cages that they were using to hold the slaves. I knew, almost from the moment that I laid eyes on him, that he was Your Majesty's own cousin, the son of your late uncle, Miraz."

There was a great uproar in the court and several people began talking at once. Caspian's mouth was hanging open and the queen had placed one of her hands over her lips. After a moment, Caspian seemed to regain control of himself and he held up his hand to call for silence. The Boy realized that everyone was looking at him – before, they had mostly been looking at Lord Reynold – and he wished that he could disappear into the ground. Many of the eyes that were fixed on him were not even human and the Boy was rather afraid of them.

"This seems … unlikely," Caspian rasped, after a moment. "How can we know that this Boy is who you claim him to be? What proof can you give?"

"He is the right age," Lord Reynold said, "and has the right look. His face is very similar to his father's and all who knew him as a babe can attest to the fact that he inherited his mother's hair and … complexion," the Boy knew that Lord Reynold was referring to his freckles, which irritated him a bit. "There is even a bit of Your Majesty there, I think," Lord Reynold speculated, looking from one to the other, "about the chin, and the eyes, of course – green."

"There are many green eyed boys in the world," Caspian said. He wasn't smiling now. In fact, he seemed to be angry with Lord Reynold.

"Of course. His story, which I believe to be genuine, seems to fit in with what could have happened to Prunaprismia and her child," the Boy perked up at the mention of his mother's name. "He lived with a Tarkaan until he was six-years-old and his mother died. I remember when Prunaprismia initially disappeared, that many speculated that she had fled to Calormen. Miraz was known for fostering relations with Tarkaans. It seems reasonable that one of those Tarkaans might have believed that he could use the boy to stage some sort of coup or rebellion against Your Majesty." The Boy listened intently. Was this why the Tarkaan had looked after him and his mother when he was small? Surely no one could have intended to set _him_ up as a king. "When it became apparent that you were a popular king, he probably saw that this was impossible and when Prunaprismia died, he used it as an excuse to be rid of the boy. More importantly this boy has a large, oddly shaped birthmark on his right shoulder. Anyone who was at Miraz's son's birth or who dressed him as a baby can attest to the fact that he had the same."

All of this was making the Boy feel a bit queasy. Caspian stared at him for a long time, stony silent and the Boy shifted uneasily on his feet. "It seems reasonable," the king admitted, reluctantly, "but not certain. Is this what you told Lord Reynold, boy?" he asked.

The Boy started at being addressed. "Um, yes," he said. "Well, I don't know about why that Tarkaan was keeping me, but the rest is all what happened to me."

Caspian frowned. "How are you called?" Lord Reynold winced.

It took the Boy a moment to realize that the king was talking to him. No one had called him by his name in ages and ages. Neither Lord Reynold nor his sons had even asked. It now occurred to the Boy that this was odd. "Mika," he said. "I am called Mika."

"Miraz's son was named Miraz," said one of the people standing near the king. The Boy saw that it was a very old, short man.

Mika thought for a moment. "My mother told me that my real name was Miraz," he said, remembering. "But no one has ever called me that."

Caspian ran his hand over his face, looking exhausted and unsure.

"Mika is a Calormen name," the queen said, speaking for the first time. Her voice was as fair as her face and when she spoke, everyone looked at her. "Perhaps he would prefer to be called Miraz." She put a hand on Caspian's shoulder.

"Mika will do just fine," Caspian said before the Boy could answer. Caspian was now looking at him in the strangest way. Not as though he was happy – or as though he were sad or angry, but as if he wanted to turn Mika inside out and see what was inside of him. "You've presented us with quite the problem, Lord Reynold," he said, coldly. "We shall have to keep him here at the castle, of course, until we can be sure of his identity."

"And if you become convinced that he is truly your cousin? What will you do with him then?" Lord Reynold asked, steadily.

"That remains to be seen."


	5. Four

_Four_

"How could this happen?" Caspian asked, his boots falling hard on the marble as he paced back and forth in his council room. "What does Reynold mean by this? Is he looking to dethrone me?"

He saw his counselors looking at one another. He knew that they thought he was in a difficult mood.

"I would have sworn that Reynold was loyal to you," Drinian said, after Caspian had begun tapping his foot, impatient that no one was commenting. "He's been very helpful in our dealings with Calormen and had no prior loyalty to Miraz. Do we have any reason besides this to distrust him?"

"His eldest son, Raul, has been known to express discontent with the role of Old Narnians in Your Majesty's regime," said Lord Revilian, stroking his silver beard. "Perhaps the apple doesn't fall far from the tree?"

"I do know many Telmerines who feel thusly," Drinian admitted.

Trumpkin the Dwarf, who had put on a guarded look at the mention of Old Narnians and Telmerines regarded Revilian. "What of the younger son?" he asked.

"A boy," Revilian scoffed.

"A knight of – what -- sixteen? Seventeen? Older than our king when he took the throne at any rate," said Trumpkin who had once learned not to underestimate people based on their age. "And if I remember correctly, he did quite well at last year's big tournament."

Caspian knew what Trumpkin was getting at. Reynold had two grown sons skilled at combat. Sons who would undoubtedly be loyal to Reynold and who could lead armies if need be. "Reynold is powerful in the northwest," he commented. "He could draw the loyalty of many in that area."

"Let us not get ahead of ourselves," Doctor Cornelius said. "If Lord Reynold had been hatching an immediate plot to overthrow the king, then surely he would not have brought the boy right to Caspian."

Caspian stopped his pacing. "As always, you have a good point, Doctor. What I do not understand, though, is why Reynold would present the boy at court and not bring him to me privately. This gives us far fewer options."

"Perhaps," suggested Maren, his queen, "Reynold's concern was for Mika's welfare and

not for these political intrigues."

"How would the boy be any better off for Reynold telling me before the court?" Caspian asked.

"Now everyone knows about him. You can't just …well, get rid of him quietly."

"You mean kill him?" Caspian asked. "I wouldn't do that!"

"I know that," she said, her voice calming. "But Reynold may not. We may think him loyal, but regardless, he does not know you very well."

"Hm," Caspian said. "Maybe. But I don't think it is a good idea to let Reynold or his sons associate with the boy."

"They'll be going back to their home soon enough," Drinian pointed out.

"Yes, the boy himself is the real problem to be dealt with," Revilian said, grimly. "You are convinced that he is who he claims to be, then?"

Caspian sighed. "I had hoped that it would not prove to be true, but it is certainly looking as though it may be. I have had the presence of the birthmark confirmed by several sources and he matches the physical description. He was also able to give an accurate description of Prunaprismia, though he could have been trained for that one, I suppose."

"What will you do with him?" asked Trufflehunter quietly.

Caspian turned away from them and looked at the door. He knew that some of those present would not approve of what he was about to say. "My thought is to send him off to one of the towers in the country and set some loyal servant to looking after him. I would like counsel on this point, however."

There was silence for long moments before Revilian spoke again. "That would work well enough if Reynold had not just made this boy's presence known to the entire Court. As it is, I am not sure. The rumors about what you had done with him would be far worse than any reality."

"That's true," Trufflehunter said. "People love to gossip. Especially humans, I have observed."

"If you were open about where and how you were keeping him, then it might lessen the rumors," Trumpkin suggested.

"But that would compromise the whole reason for sending him away," Drinian said. "We are discussing this because we do not want some ambitious lord to use him to stage a coup, correct? If everyone knows where he is, it increases the likelihood that he will be kidnapped. Let's face it, the only safe place to keep him openly is at Cair Paravel."

"We can set a stronger guard over him here," Caspian admitted.

"We don't know what he was doing before he came to us. If he's already been approached by traitors, then we may need to keep him in as much as keep others out," Revilian put in.

"Keep him prisoner, you mean," Maren said, coldly.

"Many children would love to be "imprisoned" in a castle and given ever luxury imaginable," Revilian said. "Besides, it is no more than is necessary."

"My uncle kept me in such a manner and it did not kill me," Caspian said, wryly. Maren frowned at him.

"There is also the succession to think of," Revilian said, speaking in a low tone of voice.

"What of it?" Trumpkin asked, tapping his foot. "The boy is the son of Miraz and no prince of Narnia."

Revilian frowned and regarded Trumpkin. "I loved Miraz less than you, dwarf," he said. That was true enough. Revilian had been a childhood friend of Caspian's father and one of the lords to sail East in the days of Miraz's kingship. "But the fact remains that he was lawful son of Caspian VIII and if this child is his son, he is the heir until such a time as the king and queen produce a son." Caspian saw his wife bite her lip and look down at her hands. This was a hard point for her and Revilian could be blunt sometimes. "He is the descendent of generations of Telmerine kings," Revilian went on.

"Ah, and there's the rub," Trumpkin interrupted. "The Telmerine kings before our King Caspian were not the kings of Old Narnia. The Old Narnians have not forgotten that Miraz led the war against them. They will not accept his son as king easily."

"Our king is popular enough," Drinian said, giving Caspian a brief smile. "I would think that they would accept any heir that he names."

"I am not convinced that the king wants to do such a thing," Trumpkin said, shooting Caspian a look.

Caspian sat down. This was all too much. He could barely think for all the conflicting thoughts and feelings that were coursing through him.

"Miraz became over ambitious and ended up killing my father and becoming a despot," Caspian said, slowly. "How am I to know that his son won't become just as power hungry?"

"The son is not the father. And he is just a child," Trufflehunter said.

"He will be a man soon enough," Caspian replied.

"We don't know that we can trust him or what sort of person he will be," Doctor Cornelius agreed, speaking slowly. He had aged of late and his words came haltingly. "But if we observe him a little, we may be able to better tell what his temperament is like."

"So you agree that we should keep him here at Cair?" Caspian asked.

"That depends," Doctor Cornelius said, slowly. "If his life here is unhappy then it may actually engender resentment."

Caspian threw his hands in the air and groaned in frustration. "Why does everyone seem believe that I am going to mistreat this child?" he asked the room in general.

The others looked at one another. "Calm down, Your Majesty," the Doctor said, finally. "I did not mean that you were going to beat the boy bloody or lock him in the dungeons. But you would be his guardian and you are his kin. This Mika knows. If you ignored him or were overly cold or short tempered, then it might be the sort of thing that he would resent later in life. If you were kind, though," Doctor Cornelius paused and looked directly at Caspian, "if he grew to love you, it would be the best defense you could hope for against his disloyalty. I wonder, though … do you have it in you to love your uncle's child?"

"Love him?" Caspian asked in alarm. He hadn't been thinking of any such thing.

"That is good advice, Your Majesty," added Trufflehunter. "The man will be more of a threat in ten years than the child is now. But make him love you and in ten years you'll have a servant rather than an enemy."

Caspian crossed his arms. His advisors were being very presumptuous – telling him what feelings he should and should not feel for someone. And for _this_ someone in particular. "You make it sound as though I can choose to love him as simply as I choose to put my boots on in the morning. Or that I can make him love me simply for the wanting. It is hardly that simple."

"No," Maren said to him, placing a comforting hand on her husband's shoulder. "It is not. But if you spend time with Mika and if he proves to be a likeable boy, then you _may_ grow to love him and him you. He is your family. The son of your father's brother. You had the same grandfather."

"I understand what a cousin is, Queen Maren," he said, the smallest hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. "But I have more important duties to perform than playing nursemaid to my uncle's child." He was then silent for long moments. "The boy will stay at the castle," he said finally, deciding. "It seems safest for both us and him."

--- -- ---

Caspian walked up to the room later that night, nodding at the guards as he entered. The boy – Mika, Caspian reminded himself – was sound asleep, his chest rising and falling gently. The room was dark, but the moonlight streaming in through the window illuminated Mika's face. Caspian sat down in a wooden chair beside the bed and studied this boy who was his cousin closely. He supposed that the face _was _like Miraz's. All of the older lords who had known Miraz as a youth had said so, but it was hard for Caspian to see his bald, portly uncle in this skinny redheaded boy. That would make it easier, he reflected.

Mika looked so young. Caspian knew that he must have nine years by now, but he looked younger to Caspian's eye. He was short and thin and his face smooth, though his mouth was drawn into a hard line not often seen in children of so young an age. Likely, the result of a hard life. It suddenly occurred to Caspian that they had been speaking of this child as though he were a blank slate onto which they could draw any sorts of loyalties or traits that they desired. But Mika had lived nine whole years of his life without any of them telling him what to think or believe. He had his own temperament, his own beliefs, and for all Caspian's efforts, he may not be able to change them.

The boy had lived most of his life in Calormen. Not a land for the tender of heart, Caspian knew. The Calormenes dressed strangely, spoke strangely, ate strange foods and worshipped strange gods. What a Narnian would name honor or compassion, a Calormene would call madness or weakness. Worse, Mika had lived years of his life on the streets of Tashbaan where he had likely learned dishonesty, violence and thievery of a necessity.

Caspian looked over as the door to the room opened slowly. His wife Maren stood in the doorway, her form dark against the yellow light that streamed through the doorway. "You are late coming to bed this evening, husband," she said.

"Yes," Caspian said. "How did you know that I was here?"

Caspian was just able to make out Maren's smile. "I had a feeling." She came over and placed her arms around his shoulders, hugging him. Caspian could feel her looking down at Mika. "I know that this will be hard for you, Caspian."

Caspian sighed. "He is simply another problem to be dealt with. Another threat to be alleviated."

"That wasn't what I meant," she said to him.

Caspian looked up at her. "And what did you mean, my queen?" he asked.

She gave him a sidelong look. "I have seen your face grow dark at every time Miraz's name is so much as mentioned. You have moved your court away from the castle where you were raised, the castle of your ancestors. I know that you wish to forget that part of your life."

"I had reasons other than that for rebuilding Cair Paravel," Caspian objected. "You know this."

"I do," Maren agreed. "But I also know that you have not visited the place of your childhood since we have been married. I wonder … why did you pay no more attention to what happened to Prunaprismia and her babe?"

Caspian shrugged. "In honesty, I suppose that I did not want to think on it. Prunaprismia was scarcely kinder to me than my uncle, but I could not very well fight a lady as I had done him. When I heard that she had gone missing, there didn't seem to be much else to do. Perhaps I should have thought on the threat that the boy posed if he fell into the wrong hands, but I was younger then. I had just won a kingdom and I was not disliked. I thought that Prunaprismia would have taken refuge with some lord and what threat could an infant pose? I decided to leave her to herself if she did the same for me." He turned away from his wife. "But now I can ignore my cousin no longer."

Caspian looked down at the boy and sighed loudly. He felt tired. "I suppose I'll have to see to it that he gets clothes and his own room. And toys … boys of his age still play with toys, don't they?" He looked at his wife but she did not answer. "And he'll need a tutor, I suppose. When he gets older I'll likely have to grant him a lordship or a position in my government, if he proves loyal."

"He'll need all these things," Maren agreed. "But children need affection and kindness most of all." She left Caspian and bent over Mika's bed soothing the hair from his face. "Isn't it sad that he has no family? That he has lived so long on the streets of Tashbaan?"

Caspian recognized the look on her face. Maren was the type who was wont to care for every stray puppy that came her way and since she had miscarried a baby during the second year of their marriage, there was a sadness about her when it came to any child. "He is not our child," Caspian reminded her. "We are not even old enough to be his parents."

"He is your heir," she said. "And we should treat him as your heir."

Caspian's face hardened. "I cannot agree. Start treating him like an heir and he'll become to accustomed to it. Accustomed enough to continue thinking of himself as my heir once you have given me a son."

"And if I don't give you a son?" she asked, a bit coldly. "If we never conceive again or if I miscarry? If we have only daughters or if you outlive all our children?"

"Daughters can inherit the throne if there are no sons under the old Narnian laws," Caspian said, absently.

"But not under your Telmerine law," Maren pointed out.

"Let us not think of these things," Caspian said, taking her hands. "We are young. We may yet have a dozen children."

"If we were as fertile as all that, then we'd two or three already," Maren sighed. "I'm sorry. I just sometimes feel … sad, about it. Come, let's go to bed before we wake Mika." She pulled Caspian's hands until he stood and followed her out of the room.


	6. Five

_Five_

_Mika was a bundle of furs and think woolen clothing. When he looked down, he could see the cold clearness, hard as a rock under his feet and he delighted as he slid across it. "Skating," said the other, a boy much older than himself, but still a boy, nonetheless. Mika felt safe with his hand being held and he knew that his mother was nearby. _

_But suddenly, everything changed. Mika was alone and small and looking for his mother. He called out for her, but she didn't answer. He trudged through the whiteness, well above his knees, but he only went deeper and deeper into a forest. Now, he was struggling through the streets of Tashbaan, but it was colder than ever and the whiteness threatened to swallow him whole. He called out for his mother again and, absurdly, for his father who he had never meant. He called out the name of the Tarkaan who had abandoned him years ago and for Roland and Reynold and Caspian … _

Mika woke up in a sweat and lay despondently on his bed for hours, looking out of a tower window. He had been given his own large room with furnishings that were fit for a prince. The servants had told him that the curtains were velvet and the furniture was mahogany. Mika wasn't sure what mahogany was, but he knew that it must be good. He didn't need a servant to tell him that the toys were wonderful, but he hadn't played with toys for years and felt sort of silly doing so now. He arranged them neatly by type and color, but didn't do much _playing_. There were even a couple of books, but Mika did not know how to read. Mika spent most of his days, bored, doing very little of interest.

Lord Reynold and his sons had left a week ago, soon after the king had announced that Mika would be staying at the castle. Lord Reynold had said goodbye to him and Roland had actually looked as if he could cry, but Mika couldn't help but feel a bit angry with them. They could not have really cared about him – if they had, then they would have at least seen that he was settled in before leaving. Reynold must have only wanted to curry favor with King Caspian. Well, it didn't matter. They were no different than anyone else that Mika had ever known, though he did miss Roland. He had become used to having someone to talk to.

Mika rolled off the bed and approached the door. He put his hand on the handle, but did not turn it. Mika was allowed outside, but he knew that if he opened the door, he would have to face Squeak. There were two human guards posted at the end of the hall, but the honor of guarding his door was given to Squeak, a Talking Mouse. Squeak was much larger than a regular mouse and he had a _sword_ which he was apt to take out and wave around. He had a shrill little voice and he kept a careful guard over Mika. Mika didn't like him at all. Squeak had sharp teeth and he could remember hearing a story about rats that ate babies' faces. Once, he had awoken to see Squeak close to the bed, looking down on him, and he had screamed.

Mika wanted to be outside, in the open air, but even if he went out, people would only stare at him. Everywhere he went, people pointed and whispered behind their hands. Mika went back to his bed and looked up at the ceiling. He had been here well over the week and he had yet to see the king. He wondered what rich children _did_ all the time. When he lived on the street, he had spent all day trying to get food any way that he could – begging, scrounging for trash, doing odd jobs for coin, even stealing. Now, no one would tell him what he was supposed to be doing.

--- -- ---

Mika had discovered that boys practiced swords out in the yard, nearly nonstop, everyday. Most of them were several years older than Mika, but he liked to sit on a short wall with his legs dangling down and watch the flashing of steel on steel. He was accompanied at all times, usually by Squeak. He thought that these people must believe that he was going to run away.

Mika was watching them with some interest, this time from the ground, when a long shadow fell across his lap. He squinted into the sun and a long flood of golden hair. It took him a moment to realize that the queen was standing beside of him. Mika leapt to his feet and bowed, hoping that he was doing it right. He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and he looked up.

"Come," she said, smiling at him, "I wish to have a talk with you."

Mika nodded.

"You may take a break, Squeak," she said to the Mouse, who had been pacing nearby. "Mika will be with me."

Squeak gave an exaggerated flourish and a low bow. "Your Majesty is too kind," he said in his high-pitched voice. "But I would not want to shirk my duty."

The queen smiled courteously at him. "You will not be shirking your responsibilities. We will stay within the castle bounds and I will not let Mika away."

"Of course," the Mouse said, bowing again and then reaching up to kiss Queen Maren's hand which she gave to him freely. Mika was surprised. Squeak had never spoken so nicely to him.

In fact, the Mouse didn't speak to him much at all, other than to tell Mika that he was being watched. "Don't get the idea that you'll be able to crawl out your window at night," Squeak had told him. "It's a long drop and if you fall to your death, by rights King Caspian could have my head. There are guards at the base of this tower as well, so you wouldn't make it far at any rate."

"Why would I try to get away?" Mika had asked him, finally. "It's not like I have anywhere to go. I didn't even have a roof until a few weeks ago."

Squeak had glared at him suspiciously. "Hm, yes. But I still have an eye on you."

The queen led him to a quiet fountain they both sat down. Mika was a little surprised to see Queen Maren sitting on the dusty stones, but she was dressed in a simple dress and had even had flowers in her hair like a little girl. She regarded him seriously and Mika wondered if she was going to tell him that Caspian was sending him away.

"How are you?" she asked, instead.

Mika looked down at his feet as he kicked up some dust. "I'm very well, Your Majesty," he said, finally.

"The king wished me to ask you if you find your accommodations to your liking," she said.

Mika looked up at her. She was lying, he realized. Caspian did not care if he liked his rooms or not, but Maren wanted Mika to think that he did. "Why did his Majesty not ask me himself?" Mika asked and immediately cursed himself. Why should he care if the king liked him or not? He did not even know Caspian. If these people wanted to give him so many nice things because of his blood, then why should he quibble about the fact that Caspian never wanted to talk to him? It was probably better that Caspian did not speak to him; Mika could tell from the way that the king had behaved that he did not like him much.

"Caspian has been unusually busy," Queen Maren said. Mika managed a nod. He supposed that being king must be very busy work.

"My room is very … big," Mika said, in answer to her original question. The queen laughed.

"Very big?" she asked. "Am I to take it that you don't much like it, then."

Mika felt himself blushing, embarrassed at having been so rude to a queen. "It's a wonderful room, Majesty," he stumbled. "It – it --"

But Queen Maren had raised her had to stall his objections. "Answer me truthfully," she said. "Are you happy with the arrangements that have been made for you thus far?"

Mika fidgeted. "Quite happy. I just get a little bored sometimes."

"Bored?" Maren asked. "Don't you like your toys?"

Mika felt even more uncomfortable. "They are wonderful. But I haven't played with toys in a long time. And there is no one to play with me, anyhow. No one to talk to either."

"You can talk to me," Maren said, looking down at him. "And what about Squeak?"

"Squeak?" Mika asked, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice. Who would want to talk to a giant rat all day, anyway? And Squeak didn't exactly want to talk to Mika. He only wanted to keep Mika in his sight at all times. "I don't think that he likes me very much," Mika told the queen.

"Well, then, what about some of the other boys about the castle?"

Mika remembered how some of the stable boys had stared at him. "I don't know," he said. "Squeak doesn't like it when I go outside my room very much." He shivered softly, thinking of Squeak's sharp claws and teeth.

"I see," Maren said, looking at him. "Well, you'll be kept busy soon enough. My husband means to find you a tutor. Would you like that?"

Mika shrugged. He knew that they would try to find him a tutor and he did not relish the thought. It was true that he would be glad to have a way to spend his time, but Mika had never learned to read properly and he knew that wellborn boys of his age could normally read quite well. Any tutor would certainly think that he was horribly stupid. "I hope that I please the tutor, Your Majesty," he said, politely.

Maren patted him on the head. Mika wasn't sure whether he liked that or not – he wasn't a baby. "We hope that we please _you_, Mika," she said. Mika bit his lip nervously.

--- -- ---

Caspian took his tea that afternoon with only his wife and Doctor Cornelius.

"I spoke to Mika yesterday," his wife told him brightly.

"What?" Caspian asked, his mind on other matters. "Oh, Mika," it had taken him a moment to realize that Maren was talking about the boy. "Well, how is he? Does he like his room?"

"I am not sure," Maren said. "He was grateful, but I think that you've terrified him with Squeak."

Doctor Cornelius chuckled, but Caspian could not share in his humor. "He's afraid of a Mouse?" he asked. "I hope that the boy is not a coward."

"He's not used to Talking Animals," Maren said, a bit reproachfully.

"Well then, he'll have to get used to them," Caspian could not share in his wife's eagerness to coddle the child. "That's one of the reasons that I chose Squeak for his guard. I thought that it would help him get used to being around those who are not human."

"So you chose Squeak to ease him into Narnian life?" Doctor Cornelius asked, neutrally.

"Yes," Caspian said. "I thought that a smaller creature would be less intimidating for a small boy."

Doctor Cornelius gave a somewhat wry smile. "Mice are hardly the most soothing of creatures, though, wouldn't you agree? Fierce as wolves and armed to the teeth. Then there are the sharp little claws and teeth to consider."

Caspian stroked his chin as he thought about this. "I suppose you may have something there," he admitted. "But I can hardly remove Squeak now! He would think himself dishonored."

Doctor Cornelius sipped at his drink. "I think that the boy will get used to him eventually."

"I think it would help if _you _spoke to him," Maren said, hopefully. "He was asking about you. I think that you should send for him."

Caspian bit his lip. He could remember his uncle sending for him when he was a child. They would walk or he would sit at Miraz's table while his uncle asked him a hundred terribly dull questions and pretended to be interested in the answers. He couldn't imagine what he and Mika could find to talk about. "I don't think that I will … not yet, I mean."

"Well, you will have to see him at some point," Maren said, reasonably.

"I will," he assured her, "just not yet."

Maren sighed but Doctor Cornelius cleared his throat. "To change the subject of conversation, slightly, I believe that there is still the matter of finding the boy a tutor." He took another long sip of his drink.

Maren looked over at the doctor, but when Caspian glanced in her direction, she looked down at her napkin. "I mean to interview candidates myself," Caspian told them. "Or to let my queen do so."

"Hm," said Doctor Cornelius.

"I would like you to help, though," Caspian said, able to tell that his old tutor was not entirely pleased with this answer.

"Hm."

Caspian was silent, unsure of what to say. After a long pause, his wife spoke. "Doctor Cornelius and I already had someone in mind," she said.

Caspian looked back and forth between the two of them. "Very well," he said. "Who?"

Maren looked at Doctor Cornelius and she giggled. Caspian looked at his wife for a long moment, then at the doctor. "You mean _you_?" Caspian asked the doctor in dismay.

"I do."

"It – it's out of the question," Caspian stuttered. He was not sure why the idea upset him so much, but he knew that he did not want Doctor Cornelius teaching his uncle's son.

"Why is it out of the question?" Maren asked, in surprise. "I thought it was a wonderful idea."

"Doctor Cornelius is too old," Caspian said, unusually blunt. The man must be nearly eighty by now. "I know that he wishes to help us, but I don't want to put the burden of keeping up with an unruly nine year old upon him."

"Mika hardly seems unruly," Maren commented.

"Indulge an old man's wish," Doctor Cornelius said. "It would make me happy to do this."

"You are too valuable to waste on some child," Caspian protested. "Tutoring Mika would take up the better part of your time. I need you to spend that time advising me." It was a reasonable argument -- Doctor Cornelius was probably his most valuable advisor – but Caspian couldn't help thinking that he sounded like a petulant ten-year-old.

"You have many competent advisors, Caspian," the doctor commented, stroking his beard. "And you are a good king. You don't need me around all the time as you did when you were a little boy."

Caspian frowned. "I can imagine a hundred ways that I could make better use of you than to let you play nursemaid to some little boy."

Doctor Cornelius smiled as if truly amused. "Do not be so sure, Your Majesty," he said, gently. "I consider tutoring you the great work of my life."

"I – you do?" Caspian asked, surprised.

"Of course. I tutored a king of Narnia. I taught you about politics and governance – and I told you a bit about Old Narnia. I like to think that I helped mold you into the man – no, the king, that you are today."

Caspian got up and began pacing. He wasn't sure whether to be angry or touched. "And now you wish to 'mold' another king of Narnia? Is that it, Doctor?" a touch of annoyance had crept into Caspian's voice.

"I do not know if Mika will ever be king," the doctor said, humbly. "It is possible, yes, but even if he is not, he needs proper guidance. If he is not well guided, then he could prove to be the downfall of your house."

Doctor Cornelius hadn't said it, but Caspian could hear the reproach. The tone that said that _Caspian _certainly wasn't doing anything to guide the boy. Caspian wondered for the hundredth time why Mika must be his responsibility. If it had been any other boy in the world, then Caspian would have been able to look at him, to talk to him, to trust him. But each time Caspian looked at Mika, he thought about Miraz and his childhood. His uncle had never liked him or wanted him and as he was so ruthless a man, Caspian could never understand why he had not had Caspian quietly killed as a child. At any rate, any regard that Miraz may have held for Caspian had disappeared when Mika was born. That was what his aunt and uncle had always wanted – a child of their own. Not Caspian.

Caspian turned to back to Doctor Cornelius. "You may tutor him, if you like," he said.


	7. Six

_Six_

Mika watched in fascination as Slimy and Tallman clanged swords down in the yard. Slimy always won, but Tallman was getting better and Mika was betting that one day he would learn to use his superior size and weight to his advantage. Slimy's sword clanged loudly against Tallman's shield. Well, Mika thought with a sigh, perhaps that day wouldn't be today.

"So. Which do you think will win?" said a voice beside of him. Mika looked over and saw that a very short, very old man had sat down beside of him without his even noticing. He looked familiar, but Mika couldn't remember where he had seen him before.

"Slimy's going to win," he told the old man. "He has won the last thirteen times in a row. Tallman is too slow."

He looked over at the little man and saw that he had the look of someone who is trying very hard to keep from laughing. "I believe that Slimy's name is Brogenaut the Second. His father owns half of the farm country near Telmark."

"Oh," Mika said, a bit panicky. He hadn't meant to say the wrong thing or to offend anyone. "I'm sorry. I just --"

"No, it is quite alright," the old man said, adjusting his spectacles. "The young man should really wash his hair. Very observant of you, though I wouldn't advise making such observations in polite company."

"Of course not," Mika said, blushing.

They watched as Slimy disarmed Tallman and hooted in triumph. "That one," the old man said, pointing at one of the two young men who were now preparing to spar. "What is his moniker?"

Mika scrunched up his eyes. He wasn't sure what a "moniker" was.

The old man looked down at him. "What have you called him?" he clarified.

Mika nervously fiddled with a stick that he held in his hands. He hadn't meant to tell anyone else about his slightly insulting names for the other boys. "Speckles," he muttered to the strange old man. "He has even more freckles than me."

The old man stroked his beard. "I see. And how many matches has he won?"

"Um. Just four out of the last seventeen. Before that, I wasn't keeping count."

The old man pointed at another of the boys. "And that one?"

"Ninefingers. He's won the last seven out of ten."

The old man actually chuckled. He pointed to still another of the boys.

"Listen," Mika interrupted, "I mean, I'm glad that you think that the names are funny, but maybe you were right. I shouldn't say things like that in polite company."

"Ah," the man said, eyes twinkling. "But I am not polite company. I am your tutor."

Mika blinked in surprise. "Y – you are?" he asked.

"I am," he stood and so did Mika a moment later. "Doctor Cornelius, at your service," the man said with a nod that was half a bow.

Mika stood awkwardly on one foot. If he had been a very little bit younger, he would have run away to hide behind on the statues in the courtyard. He cursed himself for all the silly things that he had said. The tutor likely thought that he was simple and that perception certainly wouldn't change when he actually began to teach Mika. "I'm Mika," he said, though of course the man must already know his name. He looked at Doctor Cornelius more closely. His name was familiar as well as his face. "Aren't you one of the king's advisors?" he asked, suspiciously. "Why would you want to tutor me?"

"A man needs a something to do with his days. Even an old man. Walk with me, please," Doctor Cornelius said. Mika obeyed him. "Now," the Doctor said, taking on the tone of someone giving a speech, "it seems to me that in order to know what we should teach you, we must first discover what you already know. Have you ever had a tutor before?"

Mika shook his head. "No. I think I was old enough when my mother was still alive, but she was sick and didn't have time to think about things like that. And the others didn't care."

"I see," Doctor Cornelius said. "I take it that you don't know how to read and write, then?"

Mika nearly tripped over a stone on the ground. "Er, no," he admitted. "Well, my mother taught me my letters when I was little and I think I can remember some. And I can write my name. But I can't _really _read and write."

"No need to fret," the Doctor said, looking him over carefully. "Most people in Calormen cannot read. I would have been very surprised if you could."

"And people in Narnia?"

"More can read than in Calormen, I believe," Doctor Cornelius said. "But not all, by any means. You are young. You'll learn quickly enough, I expect. What about mathematics?"

Mika thought for a moment. "I know how to count and add and subtract and how to count money – well, Calormen money. I don't know how to write numbers, though."

"Sounds good. Do you know anything about history? Geography? Politics?"

Mika had never had any formal training in history, but he had heard lots of street performers telling old stories. "I, um, know some stories about old Tisrocs and the gods and things. I can tell one or two in the proper style, I think."

"In the Calormen style," Doctor Cornelius corrected. "Do you know anything about Narnian or Telmerine history? Anything your mother might have told you?"

Mika shook his head. He didn't really know much about Narnia. "She never told me anything, much."

"What about music? Can you play an instrument or sing?"

"No," Mika said. "I used to know some street musicians, but I could never afford an instrument."

"Ah. And the natural world? Do you know about trees and plants and animals?"

"No," Mika would have thought this was obvious, "I've only ever lived in Tashban." Tashban was a large city on the edge of a desert.

"Well then," Doctor Cornelius said with a smile, "it seems that it is time for our first lesson."

"It is?" Mika asked, a bit reluctantly. He expected to be taken back to the castle, but instead they stopped walking and Mika saw that they were in a green area that had a few well-groomed trees and bushes. The Doctor proceeded to tell Mika the names of all the trees and plants and after he had done this, he sat down on a nearby bench, apparently tired, but he had Mika look under rocks for various types of insects, all of which he named and described. Mika found this great fun and he dug up worms and beetles until his knees and hands were dirty beyond all hope. When he eventually tired out, he sat down beside Doctor Cornelius and the old man drew letters on the ground with a stick and Mika tried to identify them. He was beginning to think that being tutored wouldn't be so bad.

--- -- ---

Caspian sat in his solar sipping tea and remembering. The wind blowing through the open windows was fresh and warm as only ocean air can be, but when Caspian looked across the table at Mika, he could almost smell the heavy, hay-strewn air that he had grown up with at the old castle in the farm country. Caspian put his tea down and observed his young cousin. Cousins were chancy things, Caspian had observed. He had known some cousins who were as close as brothers and some who wouldn't know one another if they came face to face – he supposed that he would be one of the latter sort. Brothers and sisters nearly always either hated or loved one another – or a bit of both – but it would seem that with cousins there was another option altogether. They could simply think nothing at all of one another. Caspian rather wished that he could keep on not thinking of Mika.

"How do you like Doctor Cornelius?" Caspian asked, not caring terribly about the answer. As long as he was staying out of trouble and not tiring Doctor Cornelius out too much, Caspian was satisfied.

"I like him," Mika said, fidgeting in the way that small boys were apt to do.

"Are you learning a lot?"

"Um, I'm mostly learning to read, but sometimes Doctor Cornelius lets me do something outside."

Caspian tapped his fingers on the table. "I want you to be very good for your tutor. He's not as young as he used to be. Did you know that he used to be my tutor when I was a boy?"

Mika's eyes widened. "No. He was?"

"Yes," Caspian said. "He was my only true friend for years and years."

Mika's face scrunched up as if thinking. "But wouldn't you have been a prince or something like that? Why would your only friend have been your tutor?"

"People were afraid to be friends with me," Caspian commented, mildly. With Miraz in firm control of the kingdom and his feeling about his nephew uncertain, people had generally feared that any undue affection towards Caspian would make them appear disloyal to the usurper. Or at least that was how Caspian explained it to himself once he was grown up. As a child, he hadn't really understood why the lords and ladies went out of their way to avoid him or why any new friends he made of his own age suddenly disappeared once they talked to their parents. Caspian realized that Mika might soon know what it felt like to be so feared. Everyone must know that Caspian's memories of his uncle were not fond. He felt a bit sorry for the boy.

"Oh," Mika said. Caspian could tell that he was confused, but he didn't question further.

"Are you becoming used to all of the Talking Animals and Dwarfs and Fauns and the like?" Caspian asked Mika. Caspian knew that anyone who was in any way considered a member of his family needed to be comfortable around Narnia's different types of creatures. There were still Telmerines who heartily disliked Old Narnians and both Caspian and Maren tried to set good examples by including Old Narnians in their affairs.

Mika squirmed and was silent for a long time as if trying to decide if he should tell the truth or not. "I am, but I still get a little bit afraid of the Talking Animals sometimes."

Caspian frowned. "You shouldn't be afraid of them," he said. "They are just like any other people. When I was your age, I would have given my right arm to talk to some animals."

Mika looked at him, confused again. "Didn't you know lots of Talking Animals – you lived in Narnia, right?"

Caspian nodded. "I did. But back then, all of the people who were not human were in hiding in the forests."

"Oh, I remember now," Mika said. "When I was younger, my mother told me that animals had overrun the country and that was why she had to leave. I remember that I was sitting in her lap and she rocked me and told me that we could never go back home."

"You used to sit in her lap?" Caspian asked. Caspian had never sat in his aunt's lap. He couldn't even _imagine _sitting in her lap. She wasn't even the type of person who would want to treat a child so – or so Caspian had always told himself.

"Yes," Mika said. "She was my mother."

This distracted Caspian so much, that he almost forgot to address the other part of Mika's earlier statement. "The Old Narnians, as we call them, didn't _overrun _Narnia," Caspian said, after a long silence. "Narnia was theirs to begin with. My ancestor – _our _ancestor, Caspian I conquered this country over two-hundred years ago and he drove all of the native inhabitants into the forests."

At that moment, one of Caspian's guardsmen entered the room. "Your Majesty, Lord Revilian to speak to you about the budget," he said.

Caspian looked at Mika. "Well, this seems a good time to finish our chat," he said. "You should ask Doctor Cornelius a bit about Narnian history. And I'll send for you again in another week or so."

"Yes, Sire," Mika said, respectfully. He left as Lord Revilian was entering.

Revilian walked into the room and sat at Caspian's gesture. "I see that you've been speaking with young – Mika, is it?"

"Yes," Caspian said and Revlian's expression immediately sobered at Caspian's serious tone of voice. Caspian put his hand to his head and was quiet for a long time. "His mother loved him," he said, finally.

"Prunaprismia?" asked Revilian. "Yes, I imagine that she did. She only had the one child, you know."

Caspian bit his lip. "Miraz," he mused. "Do you think that Miraz would have loved Mika?"

Revilian sighed. "Who can say what sort of father he would have been? He died when Mika was a baby. You would know more about of it than me at any rate."

"He wasn't good to me if that is what you mean," Caspian said. "But he might have been different with his own son."

"Maybe," Revilian said. "Maybe not. You were his own blood, but then again you were also the son of the person that he hated the most in the world."

"My father," Caspian murmured. "You knew my father from boyhood. Did Miraz always hate him so? Did he hate his person or did he just want to be king?"

"He hated his person, surely" Revilian said without pause. "Even when they were boys, the two could never stand one another."

"They both could not? So my father hated Miraz as well?" Caspian asked.

"Yes, I would say so," Revilian said. "I could never quite understand why – when they were younger, I sometimes thought that Caspian was too sharp with his brother. After Caspian died, I thought that he had been too lenient."

Caspian looked at Revilian carefully. "Are you saying that my father was cruel to Miraz when they were children?" he asked, finally.

Revilian seemed reluctant to answer. "Your father was a good man, Caspian," he said, after some thought. "But he could be terrible to his enemies. Miraz was his first enemy ever. Maybe your father saw something bad in his brother from the very beginning. Miraz was always jealous of Caspian and when Miraz was about nine years old, his father sent him away to be fostered. For some reason, I think that he blamed Caspian for that."

Caspian ran his fingers through his hair, thinking. "Do you ever wonder if it was the right thing – me rebelling against Miraz, I mean?"

Revilian looked surprised. "Of course it was the right thing. You were the rightful king."

"What about for Mika – it wasn't the right thing for him. He was just a baby and he lost everything."

Revilian gave a wry half smile. "No matter what you do, it is not going to be right for every single person," he commented. "You know this. You have to do what is right for the most people, what is right for the kingdom as a whole."

Caspian sighed. He had learned to be strong in his decisions before the public, but privately he often had doubts. Anything he did was bound to make someone unhappy. "I have heard what some of the Telmerines say of me. That I betrayed my own people for a pack of talking beasts."

Revilian did not seem concerned. "Not very many people say that, Caspian. You are a far better king than Miraz ever was to the Telmerines as well as your other subjects. You are probably even a better king than your father."

Caspian looked up. Lots of people said that his father had been a good king, so he knew that what Revilian had said was a complement. He tried not to show how pleased he was. "What do you have to tell me about the budget?" he asked, changing the subject.


	8. Seven

_Seven_

"But if King Peter ruled Narnia a thousand years ago, how does King Caspian know him?" Mika asked. Doctor Cornelius was trying to teach him about Narnian history, but Mika found it very confusing.

"King Peter was from another world. He can come here through magic."

"Magic?" Mika asked, scrunching up his face. "You mean that it is like a story? Like the ones about Tash or Varnu?"

"Well, it is true, if that is what you are asking." Doctor Cornelius said it carefully.

Mika looked at his tutor suspiciously. Was this the sort of story that adults sometimes told to children to tease them?

"You are a very skeptical child," Doctor Cornelius chuckled, not unkindly. "I never had any trouble convincing Caspian about this sort of thing."

"I knew a man who did magic once," Mika commented. "But it was all tricks and mirrors and things."

"Ah," Doctor Cornelius said, coughing into his handkerchief. "This is not that kind of magic."

Mika raised his eyebrows and when his tutor was done coughing, he said; "Can't we do arithmetic again?" He found these sorts of lessons unsettling. They made him unsure of what was real and what was pretend. His tutor nodded and Mika felt relieved. His attention, however, soon wandered even away from this lesson. He could just see the boys in the practice yard from his seat and he wished that he were outside.

Doctor Cornelius was always quick to notice what he was about; so much so that Mika sometimes felt that his tutor must be able to read minds. "I can see that your thoughts are not on your lessons," the old man said. He was flushed, but there was a slight smile on his face.

"Can I learn how to use a sword?" Mika asked, finally. He had studied the other boys and he thought he could avoid their mistakes.

Doctor Cornelius stroked his beard, thoughtfully. "It is an important study for one of your birth, but you are too young and I know that the king will say no. I am not one to teach you, at any rate."

Mika had known that Doctor Cornelius wouldn't be able to teach him swordplay. The man was old and bent and was, even now, leaning heavily on his cane. "Maybe if you were younger, right?" Mika asked his tutor, a bit teasingly.

Doctor Cornelius gave a small, wry smile. "Not even if I were younger, I am afraid. When I your age I was very short, rather chubby and more than a little clumsy. I was not made to be a great warrior."

"I thought that you were good at everything," Mika said, laughing. He truly had thought it. Doctor Cornelius knew more than anyone he had ever met.

"Far from it," his tutor said. "But when you find that you cannot do something well, you must develop the talents that you do have even further. I was not as strong or as fast as the other boys, but I did have a sharp mind and it has been my sharp mind that has helped me throughout my life."

"Oh," Mika said. He wondered if he had a talent.

* * *

Caspian strolled around Mika's room, looking at the toys which were stacked ever so precisely in their corners, the clothes which were folded neatly in the closet and the table with paper, ink and wax where Mika practiced writing his letters. Caspian wondered if the servants had arranged everything so exactly or if Mika had done so. Mika was not in his room. If he had been, then Caspian would not have come.

The door opened and Doctor Cornelius entered. "Oh," he said, a bit surprised. "Your Majesty," he bobbed his head briefly. "How are you?"

"Tired," Caspian said, honestly. "The ambassadors from Calormen are still settling in, but I am supposed to begin serious meetings tomorrow."

"How do you think it will go?" Doctor Cornelius asked.

"I don't know," Caspian sighed. "It is hard to tell with Calormen."

Doctor Cornelius considered him carefully. "Shouldn't Lord Reynold be here? He is the one who has been meeting with all these Tarkaans back in Tashban."

"I suppose so," Caspian said, pacing the floor. "But I just sent him away and I had a good reason for doing so."

"I know. I do not question your judgment. It just seems a shame."

Caspian nodded in agreement and then looked around the room some more. "Tell me honestly, is Mika doing well at his studies? Can he read yet?"

Doctor Cornelius stroked his beard. "He started out well behind most educated children of his age, but he is learning as quickly as I had hoped. One does not simply begin reading over night."

Caspian was eager for the boy to learn. It wouldn't do for people to say that the king's cousin didn't know how to read. "Is he working as hard as he can."

"He tries hard," Doctor Cornelius said, chewing on his lip. "But he sometimes get frustrated at his letters. He wishes to learn faster than is possible. He does, however, have quite a talent with figures. Did you know that he could add and subtract fairly large numbers in his head? Or that he could keep track of multiple complicated scores without writing them down?"

"Hm," Caspian said, surprised. "Really."

"Yes. I don't think that anyone will have reason to question Mika's intelligence. In another ten or fifteen years or so, he would make a good Lord Treasurer."

"Well," Caspian said, laughing a bit. "That is still a long time away." He privately thought that it would take a lot for him to trust Miraz's son with the kingdom's money.

Doctor Cornelius didn't give up on the idea. "You will need to find some high position for him. He won't be tempted by any – shall we say – dangerous offers if he is satisfied with what he has."

Caspian gave a half smile. "And if I, as you put it, 'love' him?" he teased, but then he frowned. "You think that he is the type to be tempted to betray me then?"

"Honestly? No. I think that power is the furthest thing from Mika's mind. He has never even considered the possibility of being king of Narnia. In fact, it is quite extraordinary, but after asking him a few questions, I do not even believe that he knows that his father was once styled king."

This didn't exactly ease Caspian's fears, but it did set his mind in motion. "Hm. And I wonder how he will feel when he finds out?"

* * *

Once again, Mika was seated across from his cousin and once again, Caspian looked as though he didn't particularly want to be there.

"So," the king said, sipping chilled wine and looking at Mika in the piercing manner that he had. "You are learning quickly, Doctor Cornelius tells me. I am pleased. Can you recite your letters for me?"

"Yes," Mika said, reluctantly. He _could _recite his letters, but Caspian's glance had unnerved him. He proceeded to say his them, but he stumbled once or twice when he could usually rattle them off with no problems.

"Good," Caspian muttered. "What have you learned about Narnian history?" Mika frowned. He had been hoping that his cousin would ask him about his numbers next.

"Er, yes," Mika managed. "Doctor Cornelius has been telling me about the Golden Age and a lot of stories about Aslan."

"And what have you learned about Aslan?" Caspian asked, putting down his wine glass and regarding Mika.

Mika shrugged. "He always comes and helps Narnia. I think that he is a god, sort of like Tash."

"Tash," Caspian said, chewing his lip and frowning disapprovingly. Mika wondered what he had said that was wrong. "Tell me, boy, do you worship the gods of Calormen?"

Mika drummed his fingers on the table. "No," he said, after a while. He didn't like talking about the gods. When Mika had been turned out on the street when he was little, he had possessed nothing but the clothes on his back – which were actually worth a good deal of money. Mika had been stupid back then. He had plucked the silver buttons off of his robe – buttons that could have fed him for weeks – and he had waited in line outside the temple of Kimnas, the goddess of children, for hours. The temple hadn't smelled of blood and spices like many of the other temples in the city, but of flower petals and perfume. Still, when Mika had reached the altar, he had found something intimidating about the jade statue with her huge breasts and twisted mouth.

Mika had placed all of his buttons on the altar and had said a silent prayer. He had prayed that he would find a family, but firstly, for a safe place to lay his head and food to eat. It hadn't worked. A month later, Mika had still been just a hungry little boy living on the streets. He sold the fabric of his robe to a cloth merchant and although, as a child, he had been greatly cheated, it had brought enough crescents to feed him for a week or two.

"Why not?" Caspian asked, and Mika was jolted back to the present. "You were raised in Calormen. Why wouldn't you worship their gods?"

Mika shrugged. "I don't think that some of those stories about the gods are supposed to be taken the way that the sound. I think that they are supposed to teach you lessons or explain things that no one can understand or something."

Caspian gave him a blank look before bursting into laughter. "I did not know that we had a young philosopher on our hands," he said. "Doctor Cornelius would be pleased, though I dare say that he would disagree with your conclusions." His face became more serious. "So you are suggesting that you don't believe that any sorts of gods exist?"

Mika shrugged again. "I don't know," he said, "but if there are any gods, then they don't care about little boys like me."

"And what do you think of Aslan?" Caspian asked, quietly.

Mika thought about this for a moment. "He seems more powerful than the Calormen gods. I guess because there are so many of them in the stories, they are always fighting among themselves. They are … petty."

Caspian had livened up considerably. "You will really have to tell me some Calormen stories someday. I love old stories. The Telmerines have a whole pantheon of squabbling gods and goddesses and I never had much patience to take them seriously, but they still made a good tale."

Mika made a noise of disbelief. Why would a king want to spend his time listening to stories that he didn't even believe? That sort of thing was for children. Mika really didn't understand these Northerners sometimes.

* * *

The queen invited Mika to have a picnic on the beach during which he knew he was shy, awkward, and not good company. Maren did not seem to mind, but sat munching delicately on fruit and nuts. At first she tried to get him to talk about his lessons, but his answers were so short that they soon stopped talking and ate together in silence.

Once they had finished eating, the queen must have thought that they needed a diversion because she said; "Look up."

Mika did look up, but he didn't see anything. He looked over to see queen leaning far back and staring straight up at the sky. "The stars are coming out," she said with a contented smile on her face. She looked as beautiful as ever, but somehow more girlish than the queen that Mika was used to seeing. "That one there is Malva," she said, pointing to a star near the eastern horizon. "She is always one of the first stars that you see because she is the most beautiful star in the heavens. She is wise too. A lot of people think that beauty and wisdom never go together, but it isn't like that among the stars."

Mika looked over at her. This was a very strange speech. "And that one there is Brum," she pointed to another star to the north of the first, "see how he looks a little orange? That is because he is a great smith and you can see the fires of his forge." The queen took such an odd tone when she talked about the stars – not only as if she believed what she was saying, but as if she knew them personally. They were a very odd pair, she and the king. "And that --" but Mika's attention had began to wander.

There were four men walking down the beach. They were all dark of skin and Mika knew the moment that he saw them that they were men of Calormen. Three of them, Mika could see, were great lords, likely Tarkaans, with silken robes, fine jewels, and colorful turbans. The fourth was a servant or slave who Mika soon discounted. "Your Majesty," he said, urgently, pulling on the queen's sleeve. "Who are those men?"

Oh," she said, with a small frown. "Ambassadors from Calormen. I suppose I should go talk to them." She arose and smoothed out her dress. "Come," she said, giving Mika a reassuring smile and holding out her hand. Mika took her hand and walked a few steps, but then froze. Mika recognized one of the men. He turned and ran the other way.

"Mika! Mika!" The queen called after him, but Mika was running as fast his feet would carry him. The man was the one who had housed Mika and his mother when Mika was a small boy. The one who had thrown Mika out onto the street once his mother was dead. Mika ran for a long time until he found a small gazebo on a little hill overlooking the sea. Tired, he trudged up the hill, entered the gazebo and hid underneath one of the benches. Mika was scared and he didn't know why – it wasn't as though the Tarkaan could hurt him anymore.

After a while, he heard Maren enter the gazebo and call his name. Seeing that she was alone, he figured that it wouldn't do to let her worry and he made his presence known. He expected that she would be angry, but she merely seemed concerned. "What's wrong, dear?" she asked, kneeling down.

Mika hugged his knees and blurted out his concerns to her very quickly. "Ah," Maren said, sitting down beside him. "But he has no hold over you here, you know. You don't even have to see him."

"The king shouldn't trust him," Mika said sulkily. "He is a bad man."

"The king is a good judge of character," Maren told him. "But sometimes, he must hear people out even when he does not trust them."

Mika looked away from her, but presently, the queen sat down beside him. "The king wanted me to give you this," she whispered conspiratorially and she pressed something into his hand. Mika held it up to the moonlight and saw that it was small wooden lion painted in beautiful gold.

"An idol?" he asked.

"A toy," Maren corrected him. "Isn't it beautiful?" Mika saw that it truly was – it was very carefully carved and painted. "It is strange that you ran here," she said, off hand. "Do you know what this place is?"

Mika shook his head. She spoke again. "People come here to look into the east. To look for a sign of Aslan's return to Narnia. It is very beautiful here in the morning. I often come to watch the sunrise. Or in the evening, to watch the stars come out. It is not as beautiful as it was in my home to the far east, but the view from here is the best in Narnia."

"Oh," Mika didn't know what to say.

"Come," the queen said with a smile. "The two of us just ran off, didn't we? They'll be worried."

Mika nodded and rose to his feet, but first, he tucked the lion carefully in the pouch at his side.

* * *

**AN: Reviews are always loved and appreciated. **


	9. Eight

_Eight_

Caspian regarded the man sitting across from him, carefully. Ahman was tall and rather thin. Dark, even for a Calormene and he would have been good looking, but his teeth were horrid. Every time he tried to smile, Caspian felt he was going be sick. This man had been Mika's former guardian; a role that Caspian himself was now filling.

"What you need to remember about the slave trade in the Lone Islands is that it has been a cornerstone of their society for hundreds of years. Your father and grandfather and great-grandfather let it grow their unhindered." Caspian tried hard not to roll his eyes. All the Calormene ambassadors wanted to speak of was Caspian's abolition of the slave trade in the islands. Ahman went on, oblivious to Caspian's distaste. "Why, under your uncle, Miraz, we were close to legalizing the trade in Narnia itself."

"Miraz was usurper, my lord," Caspian said, sharply, knowing that the man knew this. He had not allowed Ahman to see Mika and, unless the Calormenes had very good intelligence, he could not know that Caspian's cousin was now living at the castle. He wondered, idly, how closely involved Ahman was in the slave trade. No one talked about something with so much enthusiasm unless they had a personal interest in it. "We don't call him king here."

"Ah," Ahman said, nodding his head, discreetly, "of course."

Caspian leaned back in his chair. "What _you_ must understand is that I am trying to rule in the tradition of the ancient kings of Narnia as well as in the Telmarine tradition. Slavery has never been a part of our kingdom, nor do we wish it to be. It is abhorrent to our sense of decency, just as I am sure that there are things that we do that are abhorrent to the Calormene sense of decency. The only reason that slavery has been allowed to grow up in the islands is because my ancestors did not have effective control of the area."

"Well," the man said, his tone of voice perfectly diplomatic, but Caspian could tell that he was angry. "The Tisroc (may he live forever) was hoping that we could come to some sort of compromise regarding this situation, but that will never happen if Your Majesty refuses to budge even an inch."

"There can be no compromise on slavery," Caspian said. "If you would care to discuss treaties of alliance or trade in other products then I would be happy to do so, but I am somewhat reluctant to carry on negotiations with a Tisroc who is such a strong supporter of the slave trade. His father did not have nearly that level of interest."

The man gasped, probably at hearing Caspian speak so callously about the Tisroc. Caspian sighed. He didn't want to offend these ambassadors, even if he did rather loathe them. He sighed and tried to be polite.

Later, Maren spoke to him in their rooms. "Well, that went well enough," she said.

"Well?" Caspian asked. "We couldn't agree on anything."

"But at least you kept your temper. I thought that I would lose _my _temper with that man sitting there so smug after all he had done to Mika."

Caspian frowned. "I don't like him any better than you. My instincts tell me to stick him in the dungeon, but with relations with Calormen what they are, locking up their chief ambassador may very well be taken as an act of war." Caspian shook his head and buried his face in his hands.

Maren came over and put a hand on his shoulder. "It's all so complicated," she said, quietly.

"Yes," Caspian said. "It is. This man must have been working to actively overthrow not so long ago and probably still is now. This must be why he was harboring Prunaprismia and Mika, don't you think?"

"Caspian," she sighed, looking at him reproachfully. Caspian knew that she didn't like to hear Mika discussed in this manner – as a political entity.

"Well, why else would a Calormene do such a thing? He doesn't really seem the type to do it out of the kindness of his heart, does he?"

His wife frowned. "No, certainly not."

"Five years ago, I would have done something about it immediately," he said, with an ironic smile. "Such a shame that they've been training me in diplomacy."

-- -- --

Mika slashed down with his wooden sword. Was that right? What good could slashing down do to a man in armor other than land a solid blow on his shoulder? Wouldn't it be better to jab forward if he could? Mika wasn't sure.

He put his sword on the ground and ran to the other side of the garden where he knew that Squeak was standing. "Squeak?"

"Yes?" the Mouse asked, a bit surprised at being addressed.

"Will you teach me how to use the sword?"

Squeak laughed at him. It sounded odd to hear a Mouse laughing. Such a high-pitched sound. "With all due respect, my lord," Squeak had taken to calling him a lord even though he wasn't one, "that sword is a toy. And for reasons that I'll never understand, nobody wants to learn swordplay from a Mouse."

Mika's feet scuffed the ground. "I asked the King if I could have a sword and he said that I was too young for anything but a wooden one, but he said that if I practiced with the wooden sword that I would be better with a real one in a few years. Please, won't you teach me? I'm not supposed to disturb the Master at Arms."

"I --" Squeak began, but Mika interrupted him.

"Please. I've seen you practice with the other mice. You are really good."

Apparently flattery worked well with the Mouse. "Oh, all right," Squeak chuckled. "I can show you some of the basics, but you'll have to find someone your own size to practice with."

"I know," Mika said, happily and ran to get his sword.

Squeak showed Mika a few moves and told him that he had been positioning his hand all wrong. "What you really need is toy shield," Squeak told him as he took a break. "That would give you a good sense for what real hand to hand combat is like." The Mouse was smiling at him and Mika realized that this was a passion of his. He also realized that he had almost completely forgotten about Squeak's long claws and sharp teeth.

"Show me some more," Mika begged. "Please."

"Shouldn't you be at your lessons by now?" Squeak asked him.

"No, Doctor Cornelius is sick today. Please, just a little while longer?"

"Well, I guess I could watch you practice a little more," Squeak sighed, reluctantly.

"Good," Mika said, hoping that he wasn't disturbing the Mouse too much. "Er, I'll go see if I can find the shield. I think it is in my room."

Mika ran off. "Wait!" Squeak called after him. "I should go with you." But Mika kept running. He had walked from the garden up to his room alone before. It wasn't as though anyone in Narnia had ever tried to hurt him. It certainly wasn't as if he couldn't take care of himself. He had done that for years.

When he got to his room, he found that the shield was lying neatly in its place. He grabbed it and ran down the stairs, hoping to get back before Squeak changed his mind. Just as he reached the outside of the castle, he saw the Calormens walking toward him. He slowed down, thinking of how strange it would look if he just ran by them. For some reason, he didn't care as much with the Narnians.

Mika turned his face away, but couldn't resist looking up at the man at the last minute. Ahman looked down at him and his eyes scrunched up and then widened. Mika's hopes of not being recognized were crushed. Lord Ahman immediately raised his eyes and ignored Mika, talking to his companions about Narnia.

Once Mika was well past them, he started running again. He gripped his toy shield as if it could actually protect him. "He can't hurt me. He can't hurt me. He can't hurt me," he whispered over and over again. He almost managed to convince himself.

-- -- --

Caspian was relieved when neither Ahman, nor any of the other ambassadors mentioned slavery during dinner that night. He was starting to think that it was all he was ever going to hear, but they were very affable and spoke of neutral topics like poetry or the weather or their families. Not very useful, he supposed, but better than the strained, barely civil conversations that they had been having lately.

Near the end of dinner, Caspian found out why. Ahman turned to him and said, very casually. "One of my men told me that you are keeping your cousin, Miraz's son, here as a … ward."

Caspian nodded, wondering what this was all about. "One of my lords discovered him a few months ago in Calormen." He wanted to see if Ahman would tell him the truth on his own.

"Ah," Ahman bowed his head respectfully. "As a guest in your noble home, I feel it is my duty to inform you that I cared for the same boy for a brief time a few years ago."

Clever. The man had found out about Mika and had brought the subject up with Caspian before he could be confronted. "I had heard so, my lord," Caspian told him.

"Your Majesty is the picture of nobility, taking in your cousin and treating him like a prince despite your apparent … dislike of his father." Ahman had the habit of pausing in the middle of his sentences and then saying one word when he clearly wanted to say another.

Lord Revilian, who was sitting beside Caspian, spoke up. "One wonders, as the boy was found in a slave market, how he went from being the honored guest of a Tarkaan to a slave so quickly."

Ahman bit his lip and Caspian could almost see the wheels turning in his head. "I must admit that I required him to leave my home several years ago when it came to my attention that His Majesty, King Caspian might consider him a rival and thus keeping him an act hostile to the throne of Narnia. I did not wish to do anything to cause … disturbance between our two great nations."

"I see," said Lord Revilian. "But if that was the case, why did you not simply bring him to the King's attention?" Caspian raised an eyebrow at Revilian. He knew that Revilian would not do this out of protectiveness for Mika as Maren might, so there must be another reason.

"I must confess," Ahman said, with a smile that Caspian thought was meant to be friendly. "That I had a certain … fondness for the boy. Many of the petty, unkind lords in Calormen would have such a rival killed. I did not know, of course, that His Majesty was very picture of kindness and generosity."

"Ah," Revilian said. He leaned in very close and spoke in a very low voice to Ahman. "You must see what an difficult situation this puts us in. Such shoddy treatment of a member of the royal family – it isn't exactly diplomatic. In fact, I believe that legally, it could be considered grounds for arrest."

Ahman flushed and looked from Caspian to Revilian several times. For the first time, he dropped his ingratiating manner and scowled at Caspian. "You do not want to give the Tisroc cause to dislike you any more than he already does. He would not take kindly to my arrest."

Revilian was now speaking so quietly that Caspian had to strain to hear him. "For the rightful arrest of an ambassador? Oh, I think that the Tisroc is more forgiving than that. We could handle him. Of course, we _want _peace with Calormen. If you were to show King Caspian that you could be of value in procuring this treaty of alliance then he might, _might_, I say, be inclined to forgive your little offense against his family. Especially if it was, as you say, a misunderstanding."

Caspian had to keep himself from gasping. It was a threat.

Ahman knew it for what it was as well and he crossed his arms. "And how might I do that?"

Caspian spoke up for the first time in a long while. "Simply speak to your Tisroc. Speak favorably of us and tell him of our desire for friendship. The other ambassadors as well."

"I cannot control --" Ahman began, but Caspian cut him off.

"I am not a lackwit," he said. "I've been watching you. I know that you are the one with all the real influence."

Ahman grinned sardonically. "I'll see what I can do. Very well played, by the way."

When Ahman's attention was distracted, Drinian, who was sitting on the other side of Caspian leaned in and whispered; "I agree with him. Well done, though threats are not your usual method, I must say."

Caspian sighed. "That was Lord Revilian, not me, but I still feel dirty, somehow. Every time I do something like that – threats or bullying, I end up asking myself if it is what Peter the Magnificent would have done. I don't really think so."

"Then however did he get anything done?" Revilian asked, a bit coldly, from his other side.


	10. Nine

_Nine_

Maren held up two nearly identical dresses for Caspian's approval. "Which do you think for the banquet tomorrow?" she asked. "The one with the lace or the one without."

Caspian forced his mind off affairs of state and onto the contents of his wife's wardrobe. "Without the lace," he said, decidedly. "You don't need frills to look beautiful." Maren blushed prettily as she always did when receiving a compliment. Caspian walked across the room and kissed her on the forehead. "Can you make sure that Mika has something nice to wear to the banquet? If he is going to sit at high table with us, then he needs to look presentable."

Maren looked at him in confusion for a moment, but then her face lit up. "Oh, Caspian!" she said, hugging him. "He can come? Really? And sit at high table with us?"

Caspian was rethinking his decision. He couldn't very well shun Mika after the fuss that he and Revilian had made about the boy to the Calormens, but it would feel odd to have Mika sit at high table. It would be like he belonged there. Like he was a close friend … or family. "Yes," he said, despite his reservations.

Maren seemed to have regained her composure. "Thank you, dear," she said, very proper, and she kissed Caspian on the cheek.

-- -- --

Mika's boots were too tight. They were new and not properly broken in, but Maren had insisted that they would be nice for the banquet that night. He didn't like the orange tunic that he had been given either, but Maren said that it was an early autumn banquet and he should dress in autumn colors. With his red hair, he felt like a giant carrot.

Maren herself, who usually favored blues and purples, was wearing a gown of deep brown and King Caspian was dressed to match as they often were at formal functions. Mika rarely had the chance to see them both together, but at the banquet that night, he was reminded of how _perfect _they seemed when they were near one another. Like beautiful golden statues somehow made flesh. Mika felt silly for even daring to think that he could ever be a part of them. _Their _children wouldn't be bony, freckled little things who had trouble learning to read. Anyone could see that.

Mika crossed his arms as he watched Caspian and Maren eat off one another's plates and drink from one another's goblets. Lord Revilian was sending Caspian occasional stern glances – Mika supposed because it wasn't exactly a very kingly thing to do. Mika was becoming more and more agitated. He had gathered from Maren that being asked to sit near Caspian at the banquet was supposed to be some kind of honor or symbol of good will but it was making him uncomfortable. He felt like everyone was staring at him.

The Calormenes were sitting on the other side of the table, but Mika squirmed every time he looked in their direction. He felt like Arkeer was looking at him, but each time he glanced in their direction, the Calormenes were simply talking among themselves.

The king, however, was in lovely spirits. "How are you enjoying this meal, Mika?" he asked, speaking to Mika for the first time that night. "I know that you have not had the chance to enjoy one of our banquets yet."

Mika crossed his arms. "There are too many different kinds of food," he said. "Even if I accepted only a spoonful of each, I could never try them all." In truth, he had never seen so much food in his life.

Caspian laughed. "Well, it is a banquet. And our subjects have very diverse tastes in food."

"I haven't tasted some of these dishes since I've been in Narnia," Mika said, with a sidelong glance at the Calormenes.

Caspian frowned following Mika's gaze. "Yes, it is customary that when an ambassador visits that we offer the sorts of food that they would be accustomed to eating."

Mika scowled. No one had ever asked _him _if he might like a little extra spice on his food. "You shouldn't trust him," Mika said, looking at over at Arkeer. "He's bad." Mika had already told both Caspian and Maren this, but they wouldn't listen.

Caspian narrowed his eyes, apparently put off by Mika's tone. "I don't trust him," he said. "But sometimes you have to put up with people that you do not trust. You'll understand when you're older." Caspian seemed to think that this settled the matter because he began talking to a lord sitting next to him.

Mika muttered something under his breath. Caspian turned his head, sharply. "What was that, little sir?"

"I said 'will not'," Mika repeated loudly.

Caspian stared at him for a moment. "If you are going to be sullen then you can go to your room for the evening."

Mika said nothing and Caspian almost went back to talking to someone else, but he seemed to think about something at the last minute. "Besides, if I threw everyone that I couldn't trust into the dungeons then you'd be there yourself."

Maren overheard and put a hand on Caspian shoulder. "Caspian. Now is hardly the time," she said.

Mika could feel heat rising to his face. "Why?" he asked Caspian. "I've done nothing wrong."

Caspian seemed to think for a moment. "Sometimes it isn't what you've done. It's who you are." And he started talking to Maren.

Who you are? That didn't make any sense. It sounded like the type of thing that grown-ups said to children when they didn't really want to explain something. Mika stamped his foot. "I've done nothing wrong!" he repeated loudly.

Caspian's head whipped around and Mika could see that his face had gone very red. "Now you listen to me. Your father was a usurper who stole my throne from me when I was just a little child. If I had his sense of family loyalty, then you'd be dead. Instead, I take you in and treat you like a prince. I invite you to sit across from me at a royal banquet and you act like a spoiled child."

All through this speech, Mika could feel the blood draining from his face. The king's threatening posture was bad, but his words were worse. "You're a liar," he whispered. "Someone would have told me. My father wouldn't have done those things. My mother used to tell me about him."

"I am not a liar," Caspian snapped. "You tell me about the things that the man at the other end of the table did to you. Maybe they are bad. But he spared you your life and it wasn't as though he were _family_."

"I was a beggar for three years!" Mika objected, offended.

Caspian went on as if he hadn't heard Mika. He was almost in tears. "Always I tried to please him. Always I tried to please her. But they were cold. Cruel."

"Don't talk about my mother," Mika said, for he could well guess who the "her" might be.

"I AM KING! I WILL SAY WHATEVER I PLEASE!" Caspian's booming shout echoed across hall. A moment later there was dead silence as everyone turned around and looked at him.

"I hate you," Mika whispered. He arose from his place and walked as quickly as possible from the hall. He could hear the voices starting behind him, wondering what had happened.

He managed not to cry until he reached his own bedroom.

-- -- --

Caspian's good mood was thoroughly ruined. As if the fight with Mika wasn't enough, his wife refused to speak to him for the remainder of the night. When he went up to their rooms, he found that the door that lead from the sitting room to the bedroom was locked. She had never locked him out before.

Caspian was beginning to feel a bit ill and felt that he really needed a good lie down, but as he could not get into his bedroom, he walked downstairs to see Doctor Cornelius. He found the Doctor in his room, reading a book. Caspian sat down in the only other chair in the room.

"That was quite a display this evening, Your Majesty," the Doctor said, glancing up from his reading ever so slightly.

"I am sorry," Caspian said, feeling like a contrite boy.

"Don't tell me. Tell Mika," the old man mumbled.

"I will," Caspian promised. "But I fear that he is asleep by now. I'll tell him in the morning." Doctor Cornelius said nothing and Caspian felt the need to explain himself further to fill the silence, if nothing else. "It's just my temper," he said. "You know how it gets away from me sometimes."

"I know," Doctor Cornelius said. "As I recall, your uncle had the same problem."

Caspian bowed his head. "I am just like him, aren't I?" he said, resignedly. "I take all my anger at him out on an innocent child. And my temper is just awful. Same man, different politics."

Doctor Cornelius really looked at him for the first time. "You are not just like him Caspian," he said, sincerely. "But when you are in a rage, you sometimes remind me of him. And I don't like it. There are times when I wonder if you will someday do something that you truly regret when the rage comes upon you."

"I've never been violent," Caspian objected.

"Caspian," the Doctor sighed, "I've seen your fist clench, your hand go to your sword hilt or the dagger in your pocket."

"But I've never done anything," Caspian muttered.

"But aren't you afraid that you might someday?" Doctor Cornelius asked, earnestly. "And even your words are not wind. You are king. If you said something in a fit of anger and it was taken the wrong way, it could have far reaching ramifications. So you have a problem with your temper? I can understand it. All of us have flaws, but you need to learn to control it."

"I try," Caspian objected. "But he was defending Miraz. And Prunaprismia. He's never even met Miraz. I have." Caspian always hated it when someone would say even the tiniest positive thing about his uncle. If Miraz were completely evil, then it was somehow more bearable that the man had rejected him.

"And yet you had told him nothing about your experiences," said Doctor Cornelius. "What sort of opinion do you expect him to have of his father?"

Caspian crossed his arms.

Doctor Cornelius sighed again and coughed into his handkerchief. "Lord Revilian told me that your father was not always kind to Miraz when they were boys."

"You can't blame my father --" Caspian began, but Doctor Cornelius held up a hand.

"No, no. No objections. After all, you never knew your father and Lord Revilian knew him quite well. He also told me that you pouted at him for a week when he told you."

"I don't pout," Caspian said, wondering if he were pouting at this very moment.

"I am sure that you do not, Your Majesty," the Doctor said, with a small smile.

"What is your point with all this?"

"My point," Doctor Cornelius said, looking at him intently, "is that people usually want to think nice things about their dead parents. Perhaps even more so if they never knew them."

"Then I should have kept lying to him?" Caspian asked.

"You know that has never been my position," Doctor Cornelius said. "But that was certainly not the best way to tell him."

Caspian sighed. "I could never best you in an argument," he said with a sly smile. "But you always used to be on my side. Against other people, I mean."

Doctor Cornelius laughed. "That was when you were defenseless boy and I spent every night wondering when you would be killed by that tyrant. Now …"

"Now I'm the tyrant?" Caspian asked.

"No," the Doctor said, with a sad smile. "You are not a tyrant. Just a very stubborn young king with a good heart underneath it all."

"Oh," Caspian said, despondently.

Frustration was evident on Doctor Cornelius' face. "I am trying to get you to understand the advantages of you and he being on the same side." He picked up the book that he had been reading and handed it to Caspian. "Who is that?" he asked.

Caspian looked down and saw a portrait, in the old Telmarine style. "Caspian III?" he guessed.

"Correct," the Doctor said, pleased. "And do you remember what happened to Caspian III."

Caspian's face scrunched up in concentration. "He was killed by his cousin. I've forgotten the cousin's name, but his son became Caspian IV."

"Again correct," the Doctor said and Caspian was surprised that he did not stop to remind him of the cousin's name. "And this?" he handed a sheaf of parchment to Caspian and Caspian looked down at the picture.

"Caspian VI," he said. "Killed his eldest brother for the throne. Was then killed by his younger brother Rastian I."

"Even Caspian the Conqueror was killed by his own son," Doctor Cornelius mused.

"What is your point, Doctor? That my ancestors were bloodthirsty tyrants who liked killing one another? I agree, but I do not see what good it does us."

"They didn't just like killing one another," said Doctor Cornelius, looking at Caspian intently. "There is at least one instance of family members killing one another for _every generation _of your house. Do you have any idea how unusual that is? Almost all royal families have at least one or two such brutalities in their family histories, but you have a score."

Caspian thought back on his history for a moment. He had never cared to learn much about his own ancestors, being more interested in ancient Narnia, but as far as he could tell, Doctor Cornelius was correct. Caspian paled. "I had never thought of it like that," he said.

"Do you know what the Old Narnians used to say to one another?" Doctor Cornelius did not wait for Caspian to answer. "They said that it wouldn't be any of them that undid the Telmarine kings. It would be the Telmarine kings themselves. There was a curse, they said. A curse lain on your house by a centaur sorceress or a great magician or the last true king of Narnia – the stories vary on that point."

Caspian was getting a headache. "Surely you don't believe such superstitions," he said, wearily.

Doctor Cornelius looked him straight in the eye. "I take all old stories seriously. Very often, they turn out to be true, as you have seen."

Caspian put his head in his hands. "But even if it is true – can you break a curse by sheer force of will? I did not think that curses worked that way."

"Sometimes they do," the Doctor said. "We do not know the exact nature of the curse itself --" he broke off abruptly. "Are you well, Caspian?"

"Fine," Caspian said, holding his head tightly between two hands. "Just a bit dizzy. I think that I need to go lie down." He stood, but immediately lurched forward, catching the edge of the desk.

"Caspian!" the Doctor yelled. Caspian could feel the Doctor Cornelius' hand on his shoulder, but he couldn't remember the old man walking over to stand beside him.

Caspian could feel himself falling down and down into blackness.


	11. Ten

_Ten_

For a while, everything was all confusion. Doctor Cornelius came and found Mika in the middle of the night. His face was very pale and he told Mika to put some of his clothes into a small bag. When Mika asked why, Doctor Cornelius told him that the king and queen were both very ill and if Caspian died, Mika would almost certainly claimant to the throne.

"You mean, they will try to make me king?" Mika asked, furrowing his brow.

"Oh no," the Doctor answered, distracted. "You do not have nearly the support for that. They will see you as a threat and eliminate you."

Mika felt his own face grow pale at these words.

"Now," the Doctor said, his motions quick as he helped Mika find things and stuff them into his bag, "you must wait here as I have other matters to attend to. I may come and get you later. Do not leave with anyone you don't know. Do not leave this room by yourself. Understand?"

Mika nodded his head and Doctor Cornelius was out the door quicker than a man of his age should rightly move. Mika lay down on his bed, but was not able to sleep. No one came into his room even when the sunlight began to stream through the windows. The time passed when Squeak or one of the servants usually came to wake him up. The time for his morning lessons passed and still no one came.

They didn't even bring him breakfast and Mika's stomach rumbled with hunger, but he ignored it as he had done countless times in the past. He flipped through a book that the Doctor had been teaching him to read out of, mostly looking at the pictures. He made his bed and arranged his toys more neatly, and then he arranged his clothes by color. After that, he mostly stared out his window and watched the comings and goings.

At around noon, a servant brought him a plate of food, but left without speaking. Though no one came into his room, Mika often got the impression that there was a great deal of movement in the corridor outside. It was evening before Doctor Cornelius came and he had never seen his tutor looks so old.

"How are they?" Mika asked, standing up.

"They are … well. Or they will be," the Doctor said. "But it was a close call. None of us have ever seen that particular potion for ourselves before."

"Potion?" Mika asked.

"Yes," Doctor Cornelius said. "It was a potion – a rather rare one – that made them sick. An attempt on their lives. Or, very likely, an attempt on just Caspian's life. The king and queen were observed to drink out of the same glass at the banquet last night."

"Yes, I saw them," Mika said. "But who poisoned them?"

"Well," the Doctor said, scratching his head, "at the moment, the chief suspects are the delegation from Calormen. Some of the ingredients for the potion can be bought only in Calormen, you see. Which doesn't necessarily prove anything, but --"

"You mean, I was right?" Mika asked, unbelieving. He was rarely ever right and the grown-ups wrong.

"Well … yes," the Doctor confirmed, giving Mika a weary smile. "You were likely right. The Calormens are locked up at the moment until we can investigate the matter thoroughly."

"Oh," Mika said, simply. "May I see the queen?"

Doctor Cornelius shook his head. "She is still unconscious. As is his Majesty. But we hope that they will both wake up soon."

"Oh."

-- -- --

Caspian was swimming in darkness. He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt heavy. There were voices speaking, but Caspian couldn't quite make out what they were saying. He swam through the thick darkness, closer and closer to the voices.

"Oh, look," one of them said. "I think he is waking up. With great effort, Caspian opened his eyes.

"Where am I?" he asked. His voice sounded heavy.

"You are safe in your bed, Your Majesty," said the voice that had spoken earlier. It was Drinian.

"In my bed?" Caspian asked. "What happened?"

"There was a potion in your drink, Sire," said Doctor Cornelius from the other side of him. "It was designed to kill you painlessly, but we were able to reverse some of the effects with a little magic and a little good medicine."

"To kill me," Caspian mused. "In my drink," there was something wrong with this statement, though Caspian didn't quite see what it was. Suddenly, he remembered. "Maren!" he sat up straight, but immediately became dizzy and had to lie back down.

"She is in the next room over, Majesty," Doctor Cornelius said, soothingly. "She is sick also, but will get well."

"I must go see her," Caspian said, trying to get up again and finding it very hard.

"Nonsense," Cornelius said, placing a hand on Caspian's shoulder. "It would be far too uncomfortable to move either one of you."

"Besides," Drinian added, "it would upset you to see her that way, I know." Doctor Cornelius gave Drinian a sidelong look and Caspian realized that this was the reason that he had been denied in the first place.

"What does she look like?" Caspian demanded.

Wordlessly, Drinian got up and walked to Caspian's dresser. He picked up a small mirror and handed it to Caspian. Caspian almost did not recognize his own face. He could not remember ever seeing anyone look so pale, though his eyes were bright. His lips were very red and when he put his hand to them, he found that some of the red came away. Blood.

"You've been coughing blood the whole time," Doctor Cornelius said. "Though it seems to have mostly stopped now."

His face even looked _thinner_. "How long have I been asleep?" he asked.

"Under a day," the Doctor answered. "You aren't as bad as you look, I promise you."

He imagined what Maren must look like, lying pale and bloody in her bed. "Who did this?" he demanded and his voice carried surprisingly well.

There was an uneasy silence. "We are not sure, Your Majesty," Cornelius said, at last, "but we suspect the delegation from Calormen."

Caspian closed his eyes.

-- -- --

"The king wishes to see you," Doctor Cornelius told Mika. He was actually giving Mika a lesson for the first time in three days, though his heart didn't seem in it.

"Well, I don't want to see him," Mika said, crossing his arms.

Doctor Cornelius raised his bushy eyebrows. "One does not usually answer a king so rudely," he observed, mildly.

"I don't care," Mika said. "He insulted my mother and father."

Doctor Cornelius sighed. "You know, what your parents may or may not have done is no reflection upon you. Why, my own father was the town drunk, but that has nothing to do with me."

Mika refused to listen. "I don't care."

Doctor Cornelius looked at him, sternly. "You mustn't be so stubborn," he said. "Why, you are getting as bad as Caspian! The king is sorry for those things that he said to you earlier. He will most likely apologize."

"I don't care," Mika repeated. It was the only thing he seemed capable of saying.

Doctor Cornelius seemed uncomfortable. "Well, you'll have to go speak with him."

Mika crossed his arms. "Can I see the queen too?"

"No," the Doctor shook his head, "she is not awake yet."

"Not awake?" Mika asked. "But you said that she would be better by now."

"Yes," the Doctor said, "but she is not healing as quickly as we had hoped." Mika could see the concern etched his tutor's features.

-- -- --

Caspian could now sit up in his bed and conduct business. He could even walk, as long as he didn't try to go too far or do too much at once. When they brought the boy in to see him, Caspian felt like a monster. When he asked Mika to approach, the boy came and stood with the nightstand between them as if Caspian were a wolf ready to lunge.

"Come here, boy," he said, trying to be gentle, but his voice sounded strained. "I don't bite."

Mika shuffled toward him. "I'm not _Boy_," he said, when he reached Caspian bedside. "I'm Mika, not Boy." His voice was resentful and Caspian realized that Mika was very close to hating him. He wondered, idly, if it were too late to stop it.

"Of course you're not," Caspian said. "It is just an expression." Mika continued to regard him warily and Caspian sighed. "I suspect that you heard what happened to the queen and I?"

"You were poisoned," Mika said, crossing his arms. "By the Calormenes."

"Yes," Caspian said. "You were right to warn me about Arkeer, you know."

"I know."

Caspian sighed again. "The way I behaved toward you at the feast … it was not the proper behavior of a king and I am sorry for it. I have a problem with my temper that I am trying to learn to control." Caspian wondered if Mika would understand this. He knew that children often saw adults as either good or bad.

Mika looked at his feet. "Were those things you said about my father true?" he asked.

Caspian sucked in his breath. He had not expected Mika to ask about that. "They were," he admitted. "But that was not the right time or place to bring them up and I could have been more kind."

Mika's feet shuffled on the floor. "That's why you hate me? Because of how my father treated you when you were a boy?"

Caspian was shocked. "I don't _hate _you," he said. "I just … I just … when I look at you, I think of him. Which is wrong, I suppose. You can't help who your father was."

"Oh," Mika continued to look at the ground. "I never knew what he was like, though I sometimes wondered. I never knew him."

"I know," Caspian said, suddenly feeling a great deal of pity for the boy. Perhaps he should have lied until Mika was a little older and told him that his father was a great man. But that hardly seemed proper. "He was never a bad father to you, you know," he said, the best thing he could think to say about the man. "He made … certain actions, in an attempt to protect you."

"My mother was a good mother," Mika said, defensively, as if he expected Caspian to object. "She was nice to me. Only, sometimes she was sick and said things that no one understood."

"I believe you," Caspian said, trying to ignore the twinge of pain in his own heart. "She always wanted a child of her own. She must have been happy when you were born." He didn't tell Mika about himself having to leave at Mika's birth.

Mika looked embarrassed. "How is the queen?" he asked, changing the subject. "Is she awake yet."

"No," Caspian's eyes strayed to the door, now open, between his room and hers. He had been to see and was shocked at how pale and sick she looked. He wondered if he still looked that bad himself – no wonder Mika was afraid to approach him if that were the case. "They told me that she should have woken up some time ago. I am starting to get very worried." He bit his lip.

"Oh," he saw his own worry reflected in Mika's face. He knew that Maren had a fondness for Mika, but he had never before thought of how the boy must feel about _her_. "May I go see her?"

Caspian started to tell Mika that he was too young and would only disturb Maren's healing, but when he looked at the boy's face, he just couldn't say it.

"Of course," he said. "I'll have Doctor Cornelius take you over."


	12. Eleven

_Eleven_

Mika came to see Maren everyday after his lessons. Caspian was truly impressed. He hadn't expected the boy to show so much fortitude. Most of his mind, however, was consumed with Maren and the fact that she was still not awake. He called in every doctor in Cair Paravel and none of them could offer him a secret to healing her. Doctors and healers from other areas of Narnia were then called – ones who knew about poisons or deadly magics or ones who specialized in comas.

Mika asked the question that none of the adults would have dared put to Caspian. "Will she ever wake up?"

"I don't know," Caspian said, quietly.

Her face grew thinner and whiter everyday. Caspian spoke to her, but had the increasing feeling that it was doing no good. Maren did not stir. One day, while he was sitting with her, Doctor Cornelius came to him.

"Your Majesty, the rooms of the Calormenes have been thoroughly searched."

"And?" Caspian asked, his eyes rising slowly to the doctor's face.

Doctor Cornelius hesitated as if he feared Caspian's reaction. "We found a vial half full of the same poison that you swallowed and a letter to the Tisroc discreetly suggesting that you might not be around much longer."

"I see," Caspian rose calmly from his seat, but Doctor Cornelius looked alarmed.

"Where are you going?"

Caspian didn't answer, but left the room with a quick, self-assured gait. As he walked across the corridors, he drew several surprised glances. He must have looked angry. Well, he had a right to be angry. He walked down the winding row of steps into the dungeon and told the master of the guard, calmly, that he needed to visit Arkeer.

The man went to a cell about twenty feet down the corridor and fumbled with his keys. Caspian wanted to rip them from his hands, but restrained himself, making no outward show of impatience. The guard finally found the right key and pushed it into the lock. The door swung open.

Arkeer was lying on the ground, apparently half asleep, but he sat up when Caspian entered. He looked considerably shabbier and dirtier than the last time Caspian had seen him. "This is an outrage," he said, his voice clear, though he edged toward the wall when he caught a glimpse of Caspian's eyes. "If you insist on holding me with your unjust accusations, then I demand to be given rooms befitting my rank. The Tisroc will hear of this dungeon cell, I warn you."

Caspian punched him in the face.

Arkeer fell back. "How DARE you speak to me!" Caspian yelled, kicking the man in the stomach. "You've killed my wife! I'll tear you apart, you bastard!" He continued to kick the man until Arkeer was weeping. "Get up," he spat after a few moments. He wanted to punch the Calormene again. Arkeer did not move and at that moment, Caspian felt firm hands pull him back. It was the Lord Revilian.

"Your Majesty, no," he said and Caspian allowed himself to be led from the cell. His rage was suddenly gone, replaced a great weariness.

Doctor Cornelius was standing outside the cell, looking at Caspian anxiously. Caspian sighed. He dreaded the Doctor's lecture more than Revilian's. "He poisoned Maren," he said as they stepped away from Arkeer's cell.

"I know, Your Majesty," Cornelius said, sounding sad, "but that is not how a great king deals with prisoners. It is the way that you uncle handled those who upset him, not how the High King Peter dealt with those under his power."

Caspian shrugged. Part of him knew that Cornelius was right, but he did not want to admit it. "My uncle never would have beaten a Calormene dignitary."

"He was clever enough when he wasn't in a fit of rage," Revilian said, sniffing. "But can you honestly tell me that what I just witnessed wasn't a fit of rage?"

Caspian ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "Enough. I am not in a mood for this conversation." And he walked away.

Caspian went up to his room, flung himself onto his bed and fell asleep within seconds.

--- -- ---

"Your Majesty! Your Majesty! King Caspian!" someone was shaking him and calling his name urgently. Caspian came out of sleep reluctantly, his eyes heavy. He tried to make them focus as he saw a bleary Drinian standing by his bed.

"Wha?" he mumbled, feeling like a man who had drank too much the night before, though he hadn't had a drop.

"She's awake!" Drinian exclaimed.

"What?" Caspian asked, sitting up abruptly and blinking the sleep from his eyes.

"Queen Maren is awake," Drinian said again.

"Maren?" Caspian rose to his feet and stumbled in the direction of the door that adjoined their two rooms. He flung open the door, and found her lying on her bed, still pale and sick, but now sitting up with her eyes open.

"Oh, thank the Lion," he breathed. She turned her head to look at him and managed a weary smile. He sat down in the chair at her beside. He was almost in tears. He had really started to think that she would never wake up.

"Caspian," she said, allowing him to take her hand and squeeze it.

"How long?" he asked, for she did not have the look of one who had just come to consciousness.

"A few hours," her voice sounded weak. "I told them not to get you until morning. You needed your sleep."

"That was wrong of you," he said, taking her hand to his lips and kissing it. "I should have known the instant you awoke."

She smiled. "I was dreaming," she said. "Before. And – oh – it felt like the dream lasted forever. At first I was in darkness so thick that I was swimming in it. I was scared. Then I began to see specks of light everywhere – they were stars. Eventually, they got bigger until they were shining people I could speak to. I swear that I spoke to my aunt, Arlia, who I have never met before. I spoke to others. I wanted to stay longer, but they made me come back."

Maren's eyes were now shining. Caspian leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. He would not mock her fancies – he had fancies of his own. "I am glad of that, then."

They spoke more of the stars and of her sleep, but after some time, her bright eyes clouded with concern. "Caspian," she said, "Doctor Cornelius said … he said that my sickness may have affected my ability to bear children."

Caspian sat very still for a moment. "He shouldn't have bothered you with that. Not so soon after waking up."

"I asked him about it."

"Oh," he gave her hand another squeeze. "When the other baby miscarried … I just – I just – it's painful to keep trying and failing, isn't it? If I weren't king then I wouldn't even worry about having a child. Not for awhile."

"I know," she said. "But we must do our duty, mustn't we?" She gave him a sad smile.

"It's not hopeless, is it?" he asked, anxious. "I mean, we may still have a child?"

"Yes," her smile tightened. "But, Caspian haven't you thought about it since you were poisoned? If you were to die tomorrow by some cruel means without securing the succession then who would follow you? There could be a civil war."

--- -- ---

Parry. Parry. Thrust. Mika practiced his sword fighting, swinging the wooden blade into the empty air. He had been practicing for almost an hour and was starting to get sweaty despite the autumn chill.

"You're getting good," said a voice behind him and Mika turned to see the King watching him, wearing that indulgent sort of smile that adults sometimes put on when speaking to children. Still, the words were kindly meant. "At this rate, you'll be deadly by the time you're fourteen."

Mika blushed. He had not meant for Caspian to see him. "I suppose."

"Have you been to see the queen today?" Caspian asked.

"Not yet," Mika said. "I mean to go this afternoon." Though Queen Maren had finally come out of her sleep, she was still weak and could not leave her bed for long periods of time.

"Good," Caspian said. "I think that she likes it when you visit."

Mika put his sword in its sheath. "Did you want anything else, Your Majesty?" he asked, stumbling over the formal address.

"Yes," Caspian said. "I wanted to speak with you." He waved at a bench and they both sat down, Mika shifting uncomfortably at being so close to the king's gaze.

Caspian licked his lips and began speaking. "When the queen is better, _if _she is better before time for the deep snows, then we intend to do a tour of the country. We usually do one in the summer, but this year we were too busy."

Mika was confused. "A tour of the country?"

"Yes," Caspian said. "It's when kings and queens go around to different parts of the lands and speak to subjects who otherwise might never see them and, if they are lucky, get a look at how business is conducted in their domains."

Mika tried to make some sense of this. He found politics confusing. "Anyway," Caspian continued, "the queen and I would be very pleased if you would accompany us. I know that you saw some of Narnia when you came from Calormen, but it would be a good opportunity for you to see the rest of the country."

"Oh," Mika said. He wasn't sure that he particularly wanted to see the rest of the country. He was just getting used to Cair Paravel. Still, one couldn't exactly refuse the king. "Can Squeak come? He's been teaching me to use the sword."

Caspian smiled. "Of course. If he wants to, that is."

"Can Doctor Cornelius come?"

"Doctor Cornelius is too old for heavy traveling," Caspian said. "You'll have to suspend your lessons for a few weeks."

Mika perked up at this. He loved Doctor Cornelius and was sure that the lessons would do him some good someday, but he would welcome a break. "Not that you'll be exempt from studying," Caspian said, taking in his expression. "You'll still need to study everyday. You'll just be focusing on other matters for a few weeks."

"Of course," Mika said, squirming. As wonderful as it all sounded, he still felt uncomfortable accepting something from the king so directly. He supposed that he had been accepting things from Caspian since he arrived, but it didn't _feel _that way because the king had never spoken to him in this way.

"Will you come?" Caspian asked.

Mika shrugged. "I guess."

Caspian gave a brief smile. "Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, there are things that need attending to --"

"Wait," Mika said, impulsively as the king turned.

Caspian looked at him and waited and Mika was a bit daunted, unsure of what he wanted to say. "I – I heard about what you did to Arkeer. That you hit him."

Caspian actually blushed and Mika was surprised. He had never thought of Caspian as the type of person who would blush. "I should not have done that. Not that he didn't deserve it, but it was not noble behavior." He looked Mika in the eye more directly than ever before. "Our family has a history of bad tempers. One which I hope you do not share, but which I do."

"He hurt the queen," Mika said.

Caspian shook his head. "You may think that excuses my actions, but it does not. All men deserve a fair trial." Caspian tilted his head and gave Mika another penetrating look. "Are you glad that I hurt him. I can't say that I would blame you if you were, with everything he did to you."

Mika thought about this for a moment. "I don't know," he said finally. "I never wished for him to be hurt, but I don't think I'm sorry. I just hope that I never have to see him again."

Caspian gave a brief nod. "I hope so as well."


	13. Twelve

_Twelve_

Mika had always found the beaches and forests near Cair Paravel interesting. And there was something about the mountains that was most fascinating of all. But now the tour of the kingdom seemed to consist of traveling across miles and miles of flat plains, with the occasional, uninteresting Telmarine town dotting the landscape – few creatures lived in this part of Narnia. The best thing that Mika saw all day was a wild gopher. If Doctor Cornelius were here, then no doubt he could tell Mika a bit about gophers and their habits, but Squeak had seemed almost offended at the question. As if Mika had confused _him _with a gopher.

Mika spent most of the days when he wasn't talking to Caspian or Maren questioning Squeak until one day the Mouse threw up his tiny paws and said; "I never took you for so much of a talker before now."

Mika had blushed. "I'm just trying to learn all I can about Narnia. I mean, that is why King Caspian asked me to come on this tour of the kingdom, isn't it?"

Squeak had smiled – at least, Mika thought it was a smile, it was always hard to tell with the Mouse. "Yes. But also so Narnia would come to know you, I think."

After some time riding across the yellow grass, Mika began to notice a great gray lump on the horizon. "What's that?" he asked Maren who was riding beside him at that moment.

But it was Caspian, falling back from where he had been riding up ahead, who answered. "That is Telmark," he said. "Castle of our ancestors. Begun by Caspian II in the sixteenth year of his reign. Seat of power and majesty," all this was said in a sneering sort of tone, though Mika couldn't see why. Now that he got a better look at it, it seemed to be a magnificent castle. Huge and impenetrable, though certainly not as lovely as Cair Paravel by the sea. "We'll be staying there for the next few days," Caspian went on.

The castle proved to be just as impressive on the inside. Full of huge courtyards, intricate tapestries, and expensive looking gold decorations. They were met by a man named Lord Pellrose who bowed to Caspian so effusively that even the king himself seemed surprised. Mika thought that the man would stand about all day making speeches until one of his lesser lords suggested that the king and the other visitors might be hungry.

Mika's mouth watered at the mention of food. Riding, he got hungrier than he had been since coming to Narnia and he ate so much that Caspian often laughed and made some comment about growing boys.

Mika was given a room even bigger than the one he had at Cair Paravel and told to wash up. He was washing his face when his door opened slowly and Caspian walked in. This surprised Mika – Caspian had only been to see him in his own room a handful of times. Caspian seemed surprised to see him as well.

"Oh," he said, awkwardly. "I didn't know that they'd given you this room. It was my room when I was a boy, you know."

"No I didn't know," Mika said, looking around at the somewhat gloomy room and then at Caspian's face. "Would you like it back?"

Caspian scowled as he walked further into the room and looked around. Mika hastily dried his face with a towel and turned to face Caspian. "No. I hated it here," Caspian said. "It was like a prison," he paced the floor and stopped to run his hands over the bed curtains. "It is funny how a man will return to his prison, after he's been released. To see what he's overcome, I suppose, or just out of curiosity – to see the place where he lived for so long." He looked at Mika and smiled as if he'd been forgetting to whom he was speaking. "I am sorry," he said. "It's just that this place is so Telmarine. If you ever want a perfect example of Telmarine art or architecture then you need look no further than this castle."

"Didn't the Telmarines ever do anything good?" Mika asked, somewhat desperately. Caspian and Doctor Cornelius always made the Telmarines sound so awful that Mika was becoming ashamed to be one.

Caspian shook his head. "No. I used to hope so too. I wanted to find some nobility in my blood," he gave Mika a wry smile. "Don't take me the wrong way. I don't mean to say that all Telmarines are evil – there are many good men of Telmarine blood as you have no doubt seen. But as rulers they were very poor."

"What about your father?" Mika asked, but felt the next moment that he shouldn't have said anything. The question felt too prying.

Caspian raised an eyebrow. "He was decent by the standards of Telmarine kings, I suppose. But he isn't my example." He went over to a chest and absently ran his hands across the wood.

"Who is then?" Mika asked.

"High King Peter," Caspian said and Mika felt that he should have known. In a moment of insight, he realized that Caspian set very high standards for himself. "I always seek to rule with the honor and grace of those four kings and queens. Not like my ancestors. Our ancestors."

"You don't want to be a Telmarine, do you?"

"Why would I?"

Mika shrugged. He remembered things that his mother had told him. She always made being a Telmarine, and not just that, but a Narnian Telmarine sound like the best thing in the world. Like it made him special. But then, there hadn't been many Telmarines in Tashban and Mika had always been asking her why he was different. He had been embarrassed by his red hair, his freckles, his fair skin.

"No," Caspian said. "It is sometimes hard to be a good Telmarine king with so few good examples before me," he admitted. "Narnia isn't exactly the same place that it was in King Peter's day. But whenever I am unsure, I try to think of what Aslan would want me to do." He sat down in a chair across from where Mika was standing so that their eyes were level. "There is a chance that you could be king someday, did you know that? Though it probably won't happen," he added when Mika began to speak. He took Mika's hands in his own and Mika leaned back, surprised. Caspian had barely touched him since they met. "If there is one thing that I say that you listen to, one thing that you can ever say I taught you, it is this; respect Aslan and try to do his will."

Mika wriggled uncomfortably and Caspian dropped his hands as if wearied. "What is it?" he asked, taking in Mika's uncomfortable expression.

"I don't think that Aslan likes me very much," Mika said. He had come to accept that Aslan must be real – too many people talked about seeing him – but he still couldn't say that he was entirely comfortable with the idea.

Caspian frowned. "Why would you say that?"

"You said that my father fought against him and the Narnians," Mika said.

"Ah," Caspian face cleared as he seemed to understand. "But Aslan isn't like that at all. He wouldn't blame the son for something the father had done. You'd understand if you'd ever met him."

For the first time, Mika wished that he _could _meet Aslan. When Caspian had mentioned him a moment ago, a strange shiver – a mixture of joy and excitement – had gone down his spine. He collected his thoughts. "But in the stories he's always helping the Narnians in their troubles. Why wouldn't he have helped me, when I was in Calormen, unless he didn't like me? Aslan can do anything, can't he?"

This last question was asked a bit ironically as if Mika knew that he had bested Caspian, but Caspian didn't seem disturbed. "But you _were _helped out of your situation in Calormen. Don't assume that Aslan had nothing to do with it. And in the old stories also, there is sometimes a reason people are put into difficult spots – it helps them later on in some way."

Mika thought of the nights when he'd been hungry and cold and alone and tried to imagine how they would help him later on. He couldn't think of anything. He suddenly realized how much Caspian had told him, how open he had been, how he had not spoken to Mika like a child – it was a first for them. Perversely, Mika decided to test it.

"Can I go into town tomorrow?" he asked, abrupt.

"What?" Caspian asked.

"You said you'd be in meetings all day," Mika said. Well, Caspian _had _said something about a meeting with some of the lords. "And I'd like to see the town."

Caspian scratched his head. "Well, I can't blame you for wanting to get out of this castle. Fine. I should be able to spare a few guards to escort you tomorrow."

"I don't want the guards," Mika said and Caspian looked at him in surprise. "I won't be able to see anything with them following me about. Don't you trust me to go alone?"

Caspian looked at him carefully. It was an odd moment. Mika was making a point and Caspian knew it. "Of course I trust you," Caspian said, slowly. "But one does not send boys of your age into a town the size of Telmark all by themselves. It simply isn't done."

Mika crossed his arms. "I lived in Tashban – the largest city in the world – for three years all by myself."

"I know that," Caspian said. "But you are under my care now and I intend to take better care of you than that brute Arkeer."

"But I won't be able to see any of the city if I have a bunch of guards following me around," Mika complained, tapping his foot impatiently.

Caspian sighed, but he seemed to be in a forgiving mood tonight. "What if I just sent Squeak with you? Surely one Mouse would not be too much of a hindrance to you."

Mika could scarcely refuse the suggestion when Caspian had just all but given in. "Fine," he said.

--- -- ---

Telmark wasn't a terribly interesting city. It was big enough to be crowded and stuffy, but after Tashban, it seemed provincial without having the charm of Cair Paravel. Still, there were lots of stalls along the muddy streets. He had been given a purse of coins and he spent them quickly – he bought three roasted apples, some honey cakes, and a steaming hot sausage as well a wooden soldier and a felt hat.

Mika tried to buy Squeak some food as well, but the Mouse shook his head and crossed his little paws in a rather disapproving matter. By the time Mika spotted a fat river trout on a cart across the street, he had spent almost all his money. "I've never had that kind of fish," he said to Squeak. "Let's buy it and have it for supper tonight."

Mika would have walked right up to the stall, but Squeak tugged on the hem of his tunic and he stopped. "You don't have enough money to buy it," Squeak said. "Besides, how would you cook it? It would be impolite to ask a cook at a strange castle to prepare a special meal for you."

Mika shrugged. "I'll cook it over a camp fire or some hot coals. I used to do it often enough. And," he said, a smile growing on his face as he began to formulate a plan, "I don't need money to get a fish."

Squeak was glaring daggers at him, but before the Mouse could comment further, Mika had slipped off, weaving his way swiftly between the other people on the streets. It wasn't hard to remain unseen – most of the people were grown-ups that he could dunk behind, but there were enough children around so that Mika did not look out of place. He ignored Squeak's urgent little voice calling his name.

He stopped near the cart and considered. Back in Tashban he would have tried to creep about without being spotted at all as any merchant would have immediately suspected a boy in beggar's clothes. But there was no need for that here. Once he was near, he stood boldly in front of the fish cart and pretended to be inspecting the goods. As soon as the fishmonger turned to speak to a customer, Mika grabbed the big, slippery fish and stuffed it inside his tunic where it covered his whole chest. He walked casually away, making sure to avoid Squeak.

He had rounded the corner and was congratulating himself when he felt something grab the back of his tunic.

"I have you, you young thief," a voice said.


	14. Thirteen

_Thirteen_

Fear built in the pit of Mika's stomach. He had thought himself so sneaky, so clever, stealing a fish in clear sight. Now he had been caught and Aslan only knew what would happen to him. He turned to face his accuser.

"I was just --" the excuse died on his lips as he squinted up at the dark haired young man dressed in chain mail before him. "Roland?" he asked, hesitantly.

Roland smiled down at him. "Of course," he said, gently. The young man glanced around, a bit furtively. "There's a tavern down the street," he said. "Come have a bite with me?"

Mika felt his face flush bright red. "I still have the, um, fish, you know," he realized that Roland must have seen him steal the fish. "I have you, you thief," he had said. Mika was embarrassed that Roland, who had always been so pleasant to him, should now see him as a thief. Why on earth had he stolen the stupid fish to begin with?

"Right," Roland said, mildly, looking down at him. "Well, here, we can wrap it in my cloak." He took off his cloak and Mika took the fish out of his tunic where it was beginning to feel sticky and disgusting and wrapped it carefully in the cloak. "Off we go, then?"

Mika nodded and they walked down the street in silence. 

He had thought that as soon as they reached the tavern, Roland would start demanding to know why he had stolen the fish. But no, they settled at a table. It was a blustery sort of day, so Roland ordered himself a hot beer and Mika some sort of cider drink and a bowl of stew. Mika picked at his stew absently, having already gorged himself on rich foods earlier in the day. Roland talked to Mika about the food and the town and the weather and Mika answered as shortly as possible.

Finally, after Mika had nearly drained his drink, Roland looked at him and sighed. "What are you doing here, Mika?" he asked.

"The king is here," Mika said.

"So I heard. And why aren't you with the king?"

"I am," Mika said, "I just took a day to see the town." He realized that Roland must have thought that he had run away.

"And the king lets you roam about the town by yourself?" he asked.

Mika flushed. "I did it for years in Tashban," he said. "I'm not a baby, you know."

Roland's face darkened and he seemed about to say something about Caspian, but Mika spoke first.

"I slipped away from my guardian," he admitted. "He's probably looking for me right now."

"I see," Roland looked at him, for the first time, with disapproval. "But why were you stealing that fish? Doesn't the king feed you properly?"

Mika squirmed, but felt the need to defend Caspian. "Of course he does. I've gained a lot of weight since I started staying with him. Can't you tell? I was just having a little fun."

Roland's brow wrinkled. "Fun? You think stealing things is fun?"

Mika realized that he had probably just lost a good deal of Roland's respect. "No. Not exactly. I just – I just wanted to prove that I could do it, I guess."

"I see," Roland said, but Mika could tell that he didn't see at all. "Well, I'll have to take you back to King Caspian, Mika."

Mika felt very uncomfortable. "I can find my way back myself."

Roland put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Mika, but – but I think he should know what you were doing today, don't you? I mean, you are under his care. And from what I've heard of him, I don't think – at least, I hope he won't be too hard on you?"

"He won't be," Mika said with a conviction that he did not feel. How was he to know how harshly Caspian would punish him? The king certainly had a generous side, but Mika had also seen him fly into rages over less. And Mika had never done anything this serious before.

With a queasy feeling in his stomach, Mika remembered that the penalty for stealing in Tashban was usually the loss of a hand. Mika had seen it done once. The man's arm had been tied tight to a block and when they had brought down the scimitar, blood had spattered everywhere. The man's screams were hard to forget.

Mika knew that they did not use those types of punishments in Narnia, but he could not help but cringe. He wondered what the punishment for stealing _was _in Narnia? Probably a beating of some kind.

"Well, good," Roland said. "I – I don't want to hurt you, you know. But I don't want to see you in danger either and stealing is dangerous."

"I know," Mika said and continued to pick at his food. The air between them seemed heavy.

--- -- ---

"He stole a fish and ran away?" Caspian asked in confusion as he looked down at the miserable Mouse.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Squeak said. Caspian was seated at a large round table with several high-ranking lords. All of whom were curiously watching the exchange between himself the Mouse.

"He stole a fish and ran away," Caspian repeated to himself, unable to make any sense of it. "Why on earth would he steal a fish, of all things?"

"I don't know," Squeak said, the Mouse's whiskers seemed to hang lower than usual. "He was acting very peculiar. I've never seen him so willful."

"Do you suppose that he was running away for – for good? But that doesn't make any sense, he seems happier with us than in past months. A boy's mischief then? Did someone dare him or something?"

"No, nothing like that," Squeak said. "I don't think he was trying to run away for good. It just seemed like an impulse."

Caspian turned to his captain of his personal guard who was standing behind him. "Have every man you can spare looking for Mika in the city. You know what he looks like? Skinny, about nine years old, red hair and freckles. My lord Pellrose," he said, turning to the pompous little man.

"Yes, Your Majesty?" he asked, somehow managing a bow while sitting down.

"You will alert the city guards?"

"Of course, Your Majesty," he said, gesturing to the guard at the door who left with Caspian's own captain. "But I wouldn't worry. Why I remember when my own boys were that age --"

He went on, but Caspian wasn't listening. He tried not to let his worry show in his face, but according to Squeak, all this had happened well over an hour ago. Mika could be practically anywhere in the city by now and Telmark was a large town. How would they ever find him? Caspian tried to tell himself that the boy was likely hiding out somewhere, trying to escape punishment. It was unlikely that he would have been kidnapped or hurt. Caspian knew that there were people who Mika could run away to who had supported Miraz's reign, but the boy would have no idea who they were.

He was about to tell Lord Pellrose that they must cut the meeting short so he could see what else could be done about the situation when Caspian's captain walked into the room, only a minute after he had left. He walked over to Caspian, leaned over and whispered in his ear.

"He's been found," he said. "A Sir Roland brought him up to the castle." Caspian breathed a sigh of relief, but almost immediately, his concern turned to anger. Didn't the boy know that they would be worried? Sir Roland – Caspian was fairly certain that this was the name of Lord Reynolds son. It seemed odd to him that the young man would be in Telmark.

"Very good," Caspian said. "Have them both wait for me in the audience chamber."

The captain bowed and left the room. Caspian decided that it wouldn't hurt Mika to wait and worry for himself a little. "My lords," he said, "I believe that we were discussing tax collection?"

"Your Majesty," said a high-pitched voice by his elbow and Caspian looked down. He had completely forgotten that the Mouse was in the room. Something that he had the tendency to do with Mice and other small Beasts. 

"Yes Squeak?" he asked, pleasantly.

The Mouse drew his tiny sword and held it out on his palms. "I beg leave to withdraw from your service," he said, his whiskers shaking. "I have failed you in my most important duty of protecting your kinsman. I am not fit to serve you."

Caspian looked around the table to see some of the lords rolling their eyes or looking confused. They were all Telmarines – this part of Narnia had few Old Narnians. They didn't understand about Old Narnian ideas of honor and certainly had no hope of understanding what honor meant for a Mouse. Caspian looked down at Squeak, who was now hanging his head. "Don't be ridiculous," he said, gently. "If there was a failure, it was on my part. I trusted the boy enough to think that he wouldn't need more than one guard. Clearly as was wrong. And, of course, Mika himself must take responsibility for his own rash actions."

When Squeak looked uncertain, Caspian went on. "Besides, the boy has become used to you. I think he likes you."

Squeak seemed to think about this, and then nodded shortly. Caspian told him to go check on Mika and the Mouse quickly left. Caspian sighed and turned back to Lord Pellrose.

--- -- ---

Mika felt awful. He sat on a bench in the large chamber swinging his legs. Beside him, Roland kept a firm, but gentle grasp on his arm. Occasionally the young man would give him a sympathetic smile, but this only made Mika feel worse. After receiving a vigorous lecture from Squeak, Mika was made to sit and wait a good long time. Finally, Caspian entered and Mika and Roland stood. Caspian sat down in a chair at the front of the room. Roland bowed and, after thinking, Mika did as well.

Caspian spoke to Roland first. "Sir, you have my heartfelt thanks for bringing him back. You may speak to my captain of the guard concerning your reward while I talk to my cousin here," despite Caspian's words, Mika sensed something cold in his tone.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Roland said, hesitantly. "But I was happy to do it. I need no reward."

Caspian nodded. "Very well. But I still wish to speak to Mika alone."

Roland hesitated only a moment before bowing and patting Mika on the shoulder. "Good luck," he whispered in a voice too low for the king to hear.

After Roland left, Caspian looked at Mika for a good long time before speaking. "So, you stole a fish?" he asked.

"I stole a fish," Mika repeated, dully.

"Why would you do that?" the king gave a wry smile, though Mika could tell he was still angry. "Don't care much for the food here?"

Mika blushed, but just shrugged his shoulders.

"And I suppose that you didn't consider any of the ramifications of your actions," Caspian went on. "How you have worried Squeak and I by running away? How heartbroken the queen would have been if something had happened to you? How you stealing things tarnishes my reputation, your reputation? That the man you stole from probably makes his meager living from selling fish while you can afford to buy anything you please?"

Mika hadn't thought of any of this. His actions had been done without thinking.

Caspian face hardened when he said nothing. "You realize that the standard punishment for first time thieves of low cost items is three times the worth of the item stolen and a fortnight in a dungeon or jail? If you were a few years older then I would have to punish you thus. I couldn't treat you specially because you are my relative."

Mika continued to say nothing.

"And in fact," Caspian said, "I won't waive the first part of the punishment now," Mika's head snapped up to look at the king at this. "Squeak?" Caspian asked.

The Mouse stepped forward. "Yes, Your Majesty?" he asked.

"Mika brought some of his toys with him on this excursion, didn't he?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Squeak said, looking at Mika in confusion.

"Go up to his room, take his favorite toy and have it sold at the market in town. If this does not bring three times the cost of a fish, then keep selling toys until you get enough to pay the fishmonger. Is this clear?"

Squeak gave Mika an almost apologetic look, though Mika sensed that the Mouse still wasn't pleased with him. "Yes, of course, Your Majesty," he said. His favorite toy – that would mean his wooden sword. He had another back at Cair, but he did not like it so well.

Suddenly, the tears that had been threatening to come through the whole conversation flowed from his eyes. He wiped his eyes quickly with his sleeve, not wanting the king to think him childish.

"Before we leave, you will go apologize to the fishmonger yourself. Understood?" Caspian asked and Mika nodded.

Caspian's face softened a bit. "Oh, don't cry, boy," he said. "I know it is hard to lose your favorite toy --"

"It's not that," Mika said, though partly, it was.

"Then what?" Caspian asked.

"I'm bad," Mika said, crossing his arms and looking down at the floor, so as to hide his tears. "When I lived in Tashban, I used to steal all the time. And not from rich people, either. You keep taking me places and showing me to people and telling everyone I'm your cousin. I thought you should know how bad I am."

"Is that why you did it?" Caspian asked, gently. Mika shrugged. _Was _this why had done it?

To Mika's vast surprise, the king arose and got down on one knee in front of him, so that their faces were level. He clasped Mika with both hands on the shoulders. "Listen. I would never begrudge a starving man for stealing food. Much less a starving child. But you are not starving anymore and you must not steal. I've always expected that you stole food during your time in Tashban. It isn't a surprise to me and it doesn't make you bad. But now, things are different."

Mika wiped his eyes. "I know," he said. "I'm sorry."

--- -- ---

"I heard you had some trouble with Mika today," Maren said as she settled into bed beside him.

Caspian smiled. "He stole a _fish_, if you can believe it. A fish."

Maren sighed. "I hope you weren't too hard on him."

"I wasn't," Caspian said, defensively. "But I'm making him pay for the fish. And I'm going to make him apologize to the man he stole from."

Maren nodded. "That sounds fair. When?"

Caspian sighed. "As soon as it can be done. I want to be out of this city, my dear. Nothing good ever comes in it."

She arched her eyebrows. "But my king," she said, teasing, "Lord Pellrose has been urging you to winter here when you have finished your tour."

Caspian groaned and buried his face in a pillow. "Don't remind me."


	15. Fourteen

_Fourteen_

To Mika's surprise, Squeak was apologetic about selling his sword. Mika thought the little Mouse would still be furious at him, but when he found Mika the next day, he just shook his head sadly.

"I know how much you like your wooden sword and, Aslan knows, there are few better hobbies for one who will be a knight of Narnia, but I can't tell the king I am going to do one thing and then do another. It wouldn't be honorable," he said.

Mika felt like hugging the Mouse, but didn't because he knew that Mice didn't like to be hugged – it ruffled their dignity. "Of course, I understand, Squeak," Mika said. He felt sorry about giving Squeak such a scare. "I was in the wrong."

Apologizing to the fishmonger was pretty dreadful, even though the man didn't seem to be that angry about it. Mika stood, squirming in the street, watched by Squeak and several guards.

"I'm sorry that I stole from you, sir," he said. "My cousin, the king, has made me see how wrong my actions were and we have decided that I should reimburse you triple what the fish was worth." He thought that sounded well. It cast Caspian in a good light while at the same time making it clear that Mika understood the gravity of his actions.

The man beamed, looking for all the world as if he'd been offered a fortune. "It's no trouble young lord, no trouble," he said, bobbing his head repeatedly. "Boys will get into a bit of mischief now and then. Why I remember when my own son was your age --" But at this point, Mika held out the money and the man quickly pocketed it.

"Thank you, young lord, thank you," he said. "Now you be sure to tell all those high-ups that if they need to buy any fish for their dinners to come to old Jak. That was a good fish that you had, now wasn't it?"

"Yes, sir," Mika said. He didn't tell the man that he hadn't eaten the fish or that they were leaving soon. He felt more miserable than ever about stealing from the man. He could tell that the fishmonger didn't have much. At the same time, he knew he never would have got off so easy if he'd been some street urchin who actually needed to steal to eat. Adults could be so strange.

The king seemed eager to leave the city and Mika wasn't sorry to put Telmark behind him either. They rode for most of the day until they came to a smallish town called Woodwatch. They seldom rode for more than a day before coming to one of their destined stops – Narnia seemed a small country, but they visited lots of places. The terrain had started to change; there were now a lot more trees and the flat plains had given way to sloping hills. Mika learned that they were now on the western edge of what the Telmarines traditionally considered habitable Narnia. The Western Wood, prior to Caspian's reign, had been considered a dark place, fit only for monsters.

Woodwatch was a pleasant town, built mostly of a light colored timber that gave all the structures a homey feel. Caspian and most of the party stayed in the mayor's house – a much overgrown cottage in the center of town. It had very wide staircases which Mika amused himself running up and down until he was stopped by the Lord Drinian. The queen wasn't feeling well and he was making too much noise.

--- -- ---

They had been riding most of the day when Maren complained that she felt weak. Caspian reached out and touched her shoulder in concern. Sometimes, he was apt to forget that Maren had recently had so great a threat to her health.

"Do we need to stop now?" he asked.

"I can make it to the next town," Maren answered, white-lipped.

"You could ride in the wagon. Are you in pain?" he whispered. Was this a relapse? Maren had seemed fine during their journeys, but perhaps he had overtaxed her after all.

"No, Caspian," she smiled at him, reassuringly, "but I feel weak, as if I could faint."

This caused him to raise his eyebrows in alarm, but Maren sat up straight and proud. Sometimes, Caspian thought that she was more suited to be a queen than he was a king. She had given no one but him any clue that she felt poorly. Behind him, two of his soldiers and one of his lords were laughing uproariously, likely at a bawdy jest. Just ahead, Mika talked avidly with another of his lords. The boy had become such a talker of late – Caspian could still remember how reserved and unresponsive he'd been when he had first come to Narnia a few months ago.

Maren was true to her word and managed to sit straight on her horse until they reached the town of Woodwatch about an hour later. She greeted the people of the town with so much grace and aplomb that Caspian thought she must be feeling better, but as soon as they were alone in their room she collapsed onto the bed, fully clothed.

"The doctor," she said when Caspian looked at her in concern. "I need to see the doctor."

Caspian berated himself. He shouldn't have listened to her when she said that she could make it to the next town. He should have made her stop right away and had her condition examined. "I'll have him fetched," Caspian said. "And any competent healer who may be found in this town as well."

The doctor a two town healers were found, one of them an old woman who looked half blind to Caspian. He left them to their work, reluctantly. He walked downstairs where he met Drinian who suggested that he should eat.

Caspian certainly didn't feel like eating, but as he hadn't had anything since breakfast, he allowed Drinian to pester a servant for a plate of cold chicken. He sat picking at his food as Drinian attempted to comfort him.

"She's going to be fine," he said.

"I shouldn't have brought her on long excursion so soon after her sickness," Caspian said, sitting aside his plate. "If anything serious has happened to her, I'll --"

"She wanted to come," Drinian said. "We all saw what a good time she was having, meeting her subjects. She'd never visited most of the towns. You stay at Cair too much, Caspian."

Caspian sighed heavily and sat his plate down. "I feel we are safer there. I don't know why – Telmark is more defensible. But I have this feeling that if we'd never left, she wouldn't be sick right now."

"Bad things happen in Cair too," Drinian reminded him.

Caspian would have said more, but at that moment Mika ran up to them (the boy seemed to have a lot of energy these days). "What's wrong with the queen?" he demanded of Caspian.

Not even a "Your Majesty". Caspian had to smile because he knew that it was concern for Maren, not rudeness, that made Mika so insistent.

"I don't know yet," he said. "She was feeling weak."

"Doctors are looking into it now," Drinian added.

Mika frowned, but nodded. "Can I see her later this evening?"

"If she isn't sleeping," Caspian said, studying the boy's concerned face. "Listen, Mika, she's going to be all right." He hadn't believed it before, but somehow just uttering the words reassured him. Of course, Maren would be all right. He was probably worrying himself over nothing and she was simply tired or had a cold. At any rate, there was no use worrying until he knew the problem.

After a few minutes, Mika went to the kitchen to have his dinner. A little later, the doctor found Caspian and asked to speak to him alone. Caspian arose nervously from his seat – surely if the doctor wanted to speak to him alone, it could mean nothing good – and followed the man into a little study.

"What's wrong with her," he demanded as soon as the door was closed, echoing Mika's earlier insistent tone.

"Your Majesty," the man said, running his fingers through what was left of his hair, "sit down."

Caspian sat down impatiently and looked up at the man. "Well?"

"After talking to the queen and checking her condition, the other healers and I agree. The queen is not sick, exactly. She is with child."

Caspian froze. He had hardly been expecting this – they had been trying to conceive for years and the idea that it would happen so soon after Maren's sickness was frightening. He clutched the arm of his chair. "In your opinion, is the queen healthy enough to carry a child and bear it?"

The doctor took a deep breath. "In my opinion, she is," he said. "But she may need more rest and less movement than most women in similar condition. It is important that you get her back to Cair as soon as possible, preferably in the cart. Nothing causes more miscarriages than riding horseback."

Caspian winced. Maren hated riding in the cart. Even Mika seemed to think riding in the cart beneath him – as if Caspian had suggested that he was a baby or an invalid. "Perhaps Cair is too far to move her," Caspian said. "Perhaps we should hold court here until she delivers the baby."

The doctor looked around at the wooden house, blankly. "Here, Your Majesty?"

"Well not _here_," Caspian clarified. "But near. There must be an fort or a castle that is owned by the throne of Narnia somewhere about."

"It might be for the best," the doctor agreed. "If an early winter caught the party, then it could have detrimental effects on the queen and the child."

Caspian nodded. "It will be done then."

Caspian was half expecting Maren to be asleep when he went up, but she was sitting up on the bed and was positively glowing.

"Did they tell you?" she asked.

Caspian managed a smile. "Yes, they did." He kissed her on the forehead. It hadn't occurred to Caspian to be happy – but it had clearly occurred to Maren. He remembered the last time he found out she was with child and how he had whirled her around in his arms and they had both laughed and kissed.

"Aren't you pleased?" Maren asked, looking at his face.

"I'm worried for you," Caspian said. "And for the child, of course. After what happened last time and you being sick such a short time ago – it isn't good Maren."

Maren's lip quivered as if she were going to cry and Caspian was sorry for voicing his fears to her. He should be strong and comforting, not uncertain. "Of course, it's good," she said. "We're going to have a baby. I thought that was what we both wanted. At any rate, isn't it what kings and queens are supposed to do? Produce heirs?"

"We can't be certain that it will happen."

"Well, of course not!" Maren said, crossing her arms. "We can't be certain of anything. But a new child should be greeted with enthusiasm, not with doubt."

Caspian sighed. He knew she was right.

"You didn't used to be so cautious, Caspian," she said. "What happened?"

Caspian looked at his hands. "What happened last time was hard for me. I tried not to let it show, because I knew it was worse for you."

Maren took his hand in hers. "I know. And I know the dangers. The first thought that came into to my mind was to wonder what would happen if something went wrong – how you would handle it, how I would handle it, whether my body would endure. But we can't let fear rule over our lives."

Caspian held her hand up to his lips and kissed it. "You are right, as always. I am fortunate to be having a baby with such a wise lady."

Maren's smile at these words was like the sun.


End file.
